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.