Like Deer

I am jogging with George.

We are running along a country lane.

We don’t talk. He is slightly

ahead. There is a hedge

on the left. I feel like he wants

to go that way. I might want

to go that way, too. He turns

left, right into and through

the hedge, which is velvety

and dense like a dream. Maybe

it will work for me. I turn. It is

thick and sticks to me

like flesh. I emerge slowly,

can barely move, have hedge

all over me like caterpillar

fur or armor or a new layer

of me. George is moving well ahead

up a path between the lawns

of two old properties. He is

nearing the trees. With effort

I pull off a few clumps.

My stride and breathing loosen.

I catch up and we run

blithely through the woods.

Her Embrace

Went to the old apartment on Bedford.

It was gutted on the inside.

Walls torn out. New beams put in

in the basement. I used the old keys.

She comes in. I say something. She runs away.

I have to explain myself to myself

and leave. Across the street is the diner

everyone goes to. I am sure to see

the people I met earlier there. Or is it

a cemetery? I come to the town square

and start driving around it. The huge trees

on the green hang over the road.

She is on the green. I see her from

the side. She is on her way, striding even,

under the trees. This time when I go

around the square the car is out of control,

starts to slide off the road into the dark,

snow-covered arms of the trees.