The Deer

A poem by Mark Gulino

I crept through misting rain into the tall grass
and watched him as I drew back the arrow on my bow.

We stared at one another, some unknown thing said
silently between us.

Steam rose from his mouth as he cried out
and several heads lifted above that tall, dead grass
all around me,
and the herd of deer stampeded past.

I went home empty-handed
but satisfied.

Copyright © 2026 by Mark Gulino