Inside a snowy blanket which put the trees to sleep, I heard a fawn. Out past the window's ice coat in the morning, I found a sleeping fawn. There are men in yellow kitchens watching hands of brown-eyed women while men in orange jackets dream in secret, of capturing a fawn. When I was younger I was taught, but have forgotten, sweet timidity. When I am older I will learn, by necessity, the light-footedness of fawns. Someone left a lily on my doorstep, eggshell white with speckled leaves; the card of introduction said the flower's name was Fawn. Sages wonder if it's possible for men to turn to animals. I wonder if they've pondered the agility of fawns. Submitted by Joe Shields