Deer
always know
how to come down
when they bound.
Their borders
are different than yours
or mine: vaulting
through forests
over fallen logs
across creek beds
but still immune
to the awful fascination of cliffs
treading
so softly to a pond
even the water
is surprised
and goes hurrying across itself
when they drink.
When they’re gone
tadpoles swim
in the wells of their tracks.