Father deer lucidly daydreams.
His hooves twitch back and forth
between sticky strings of alfalfa.
He whimpers then yelps:
"Shoot him!"
Mother deer sits straight by his side,
she ponders the pinkish-red flowers
that used to be down by the pond.
Speaking in a quiet voice she says:
"Are we most deer when we
see ourselves as human?"

Dedicated to Bob Pack.