Civilization by MR Baird
I have descended out of the Northwest
Back into civilization
Sounds of cars and jets,
Weed eaters now hurt my head,
I don’t belong here anymore
Now that I think of him,
That stag,
I met in the early morning
High on a mountain,
His nostrils quivered, breathing me in,
His show of bone and velvet cover
Waving the way to the trees
In single beats,
In standing ground, closer,
A compass,
Breaking our silence,
Telling me to follow,
His living story as old as
The traveled stone,
His trumpeting voice, carried
Across the moors.
©2016, M. R. Baird