Fawn

The fawn in the meadow 
tilts her head
as the north wind
rustles the grass.
Message received,
she sets her teeth
to shred the evidence.

23/365

A version of this poem first appeared on Bluesky. Whispered into the acoustic sensors of the sleeping dreaming android, it prompted the electric sheep to generate one more tomorrow…

The AI rendered this poem as a baby deer sitting in the grass in dappled sunlight.