How long can deer predictably live
in a place where hunting is not allowed?
I scout the periphery of the field
where they appear from time to time
find traces of an old scrape under
a white pine tree––pellets, and grasses
bent by the weight of their big bodies
bedded down for nights under the stars.
Do deer sigh as people do with peace?
Do I anthropomorphize what only wants
appreciation through notice? I want
to relate to their hidden lives and so go
out on the limb of that pine to watch for
their approach through the darkening wood.