(Ashland, Oregon)

Anxious to find a parking space
too close to the time of our final play,

I crept slowly up the hill by the park,
invoking the trusty parking fairy,

who must’ve been off preparing for
her night’s work onstage—

because it was a midsummer night,
and there was dreaming to be done.

No spot made itself available to
two playgoers. But twice I stopped

saying, “Oh, deer!” to briefly watch
at close range two troupes of females

nibbling grass, oblivious to cars and
people, secure in their momentary safety,

sensing that all would end well, that
those foolish mortals in their rolling

contraptions would do the foragers no
harm. And so, touched by that bit of magic,

I drove on.