In the Hills

by Ray Greenblatt

Leftover deer stand and stare.
In the hills we wear
high leather boots in case
we kick up copperheads
sleeping off winter.
A tribe of forsythia
gathers on a hillside.
On a fence crow crouches
like  a mail pouch,
vulture spreads wings
formidable as any eagle.
Sacrilegious: tire in a field.