Traveling through the dark I found a deer

dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.

It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:

that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.

By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car

and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;

she had stiffened already, almost cold.

I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.

My fingers touching her side brought me the reason--

her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,

alive, still, never to be born.

Beside that mountain road I hesitated.

The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;

under the hood purred the steady engine.

I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;

around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.

I thought hard for us all--my only swerving--,

then pushed her over the edge into the river.

From The Way It Is: New & Selected Poems by William Stafford. Copyright © 1962, 1998 by the Estate of William Stafford. Reprinted with the permission of Graywolf Press, Saint Paul , Minnesota .

http://www.poets.org/poems/poems.cfm?45442B7C000C04000E75

Attempts to Pass

David B. Axelrod

Pastels flesh out the early morning

grey, I've watched the night turn

into day. The night before trips

we stay awake, indexing all we've

learned. Review the sounds

the travel guide lists for jets

about to land: the thud of

wing flaps, suspension of the

power, the squeal of tires,

the tests we put on life.

Once, while landing at a smaller

strip, we swooped up suddenly

to keep from piggy-backing

with a plane not yet in flight.

A matter of mere seconds!

We are travelers in the dark,

students of some ancient

fortune-telling art, studying

our lessons carefully as we

embark, with illusions of answers

only.

From Starting From Paumanok. Edited by David B. Axelrod ©             Copyright 1971 Editors of Despa Press. Rights now held and distributed by Writers Unlimited Agency, Inc., Long Island Publishers Services, Selden , New York .