Long Live the Deer

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.

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