When the dawn gulls call
we meet them near the wharf’s edge.
There is wind. The ferryman
gone, quarters scattered
along the dock. The sun a rusted
knob unhounding light.
Our landscape: blond hills stretch
into more blond hills. Our tongues
stunned in observance of white-tails in the field.
Everywhere, unflinching, the public
glare of August. Never have we been
so involved with our bodies, the risk
of them. A sorrow soft
and punctual as antlers in bloom.
Carlie Hoffman is a recipient of a 2016 92Y/Discovery Poetry Prize. Her poems appear or are forthcoming in New England Review, Bennington Review, Boston Review, Narrative, Nashville Review and elsewhere. She is from New Jersey.