The oak holds its flickering leaves for one more morning.  The light no longer trembles when I take a breath, even though a car rattles toward me down the long dirt road.  Is it over?  What harder part is still to come?  A deer pauses but the frayed cornstalks can't hide the sheen of its body.  In the field beyond the trees, a sandhill crane ripples a wing.  I only see a little motion, dissolving, a little pale flash:  I will never have enough eyes.