WINTER DEER
Through the trees they came
at twilight or at dawn,
bowing their graceful heads
beneath the snowy branches.
They left their heart-prints
along the drive awhile,
crossed then into the pines.
Three doe with this spring’s young.
Every year I’ve seen them,
nine of them. The immortal
deer at the border of what
we think is ours, what has
always been theirs.