Their cloven hooves cut
through fluff and crust of snow.
By their marks we know
just where the deer would go,

how close to house, how far,
what trees they delicately nibble,
what summer-vine or spring flowering bush,
what green they sought

in thick white snow
to keep deer body aligned with deer soul.
Crossing the fields one more day
is all a witness can fairly say.

Their impressive muscular hugeness,
tiny heads, big-flicker ears perked up,
each strand of fur, brown nose, soft eyes,
one foot from me through my kitchen window.

Then…away, white tails high,
into near woods, then deeper, and deeper still
to where these three would stay the night
quiet if not ever sleep deep.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

From Thrown Again into the Frazzle Machine