tall grass above.
on my back at dusk.
no clouds on this brisk
November evening,
only deep blue darkening.

they shuffle
through thick brush.
“He’s over there,”
i hear.

each breath of crisp air
cold in my lungs, leaves
my lips in a warm fog.
in my throat the
thumping pulse.

it occurs to me.
all of it.
eyes close.
open again.
still the seed heads dance
before the dimming sky.
still the earth beneath.

to lay here without
regret, swimming in
the owl’s song,
as ants begin to crawl
up an open shirt sleeve.
i gave it all. to know it
is a gift.

“It went through the deer
before it hit him?”

roll me on my side,
four grown men cry
like they, too, had seen god,

“easy now, no exit wound?”

unbelievable the hollow
point did not explode, did not
leave me, lodged warm
below the spleen.

“look Jim, you can feel it
on his back, just below the skin!”

i wasn’t angry.
it was an accident.
another sequence
of bizarre events.

in the ambulance
the paramedic sighed,
“fella we thought we’d lost
you for a second,
you went pale white.
sounds like that buck
saved your life.”