Christine Jackson

She stands at the kitchen window
with her cup of chamomile
and appraises the yard
where her perennial garden thrives.

Michaelmas daisies form
violet starbursts with centers
like tiny suns.
Goldenrods arch into delicate curls
next to lavender clouds of chrysanthemums.

The window glass mists over with
steam from her cup
as a buck with a full rack
emerges as if from air.
He bends and grazes
through her pink flowers of sedum
then disappears into the trees
like a haze of smoke.