I mounted deer-whistles onto the van. Next door two women spend bright mornings dozing hip to hip in a hammock. Even in this crisp light one has hair dark as that wine stain we left to soak from the linen runner when we went to bed. On my drives, as advertised, the deer slip from the road's shoulders into the woods. Your absence has this kind of radius.
Unseen deer shake their heads like dazed boxers.
They emerge to browse on foxglove, chamomile, burrs and weeds. Garrett Scott is the manager of The Brick Row Book Shop in San Francisco and an M.F.A. candidate at San Francisco State. This is his first time in print.