The Good World
but when I painted the deer
I didn’t want to scare her
so I started with the leaves
her slow tongue curled around
then the nearby apples come loose
on their brittling stems
for her alone
I painted even the halfheartedness
of that red then
her’s eyes closing, leaving the sun
to tire by itself
as her lips rolled wetly across
their amiable consonant of eating
then I stopped
for it was her long day’s end
but some apple still glistened
on the tip of my brush
