Peace With the Wild by Tyrean Martinson

Not for man's conventions but
For the peace with the wild,
I practice sitting still–

For mornings on my back deck
To watch the soft rabbit in the grass
And the yearling buck who steps slow

Out of wood's edge to curl 
Into a bed of clover he nibbles.
Another, older buck joins,
Their ears twitching at the caw of crows,
Ignoring the sweet songbirds.

When I shift in my seat,
They stop and stare at me with dark eyes—
This tenuous moment of small movement—
And then resume their clover feast.

I don't want them closer; they eat my roses.
But for this present moment, 
I have peace with them and they with me.