N a p a l m H e a l t h S p a : R e p o r t 2 0 1 0

DAVID COPE

The Crippled Doe

dreaming as I rounded

the bend, my paddle still:

a wounded doe

hobbled into

the stream

crossing—

the wound, fractured thigh or

muscle torn in wild dodge thru trees

(hunters’ missed shot?)

seeing me, she turned

frantic, swimming

ahead. ears

laid back to listen.

I slowed & gave her room,

yet she did not cross, came up

& hobbled along sand bank

then back into the racing currents,

finally crossing,

standing on the shore—

she did not plunge

into cedars & safety, but

stared directly

in my eyes as I passed, still—