Against a sky and lake bleached icy gray, the solid Surface edged with snow and spindly bones Of leafless trees, four silhouettes, a single file Of ash-brown deer—two adults, two adolescents— Halt their slow-mo synchrony of steps At the middle of the lake, its top layer hardened To host weightlessness, not illusion on elegant legs. Beauty is no help. The starving deer, weary of feeding On bark and road salt, resume their lake-top trek. From spring through fall, the white-tailed locals feast On roses, carry ticks. One after another, they meet Your eyes, and yet they leap onto the road— At the same bend where that drunk teen driver Bashed the fence, then flipped. Nature Holds you. When it drifts, it breaks your heart.