(For Emelee)

Where you are it is autumn, and evening.
A deer among the trees. Its music.
A lake, lonely at evening.

Birds wing into flight. Soft music.
Sadness in the curve of your eyes.
Your little smile. Its music.

God has altered the curve of your eyes.
Child of the one Good Friday,
when you sleep, starlight traces the curve of your brow.

© Richard Deutch