Piece.

How easily it can be broken,
Fragile like                 glass  or
       a child's finger bone.
  Slender and quivering in a cold grasp
Eyes milky white    glass orbs
   It isn't sympathy,
  It's Fate, and it's blind ignorance to you

Waiting for a tweak / crack / snap
   of pale marrow branches
To let you,
   the fawn, frightened and
breathing warily
Know when to bolt   from the hungry wolf
Faster
   Even though we all know it's only
            a pinch of salt
            a wisp of smoke away
  from tearing into you.