You can’t help but see them all
The deer who are here
Promenading down the alley
Drinking from the small seasonal lake
Beside the grain elevator
In two’s or three’s or herds of a dozen
Prancing down the avenues
Browsing the lilac hedges
Around small empty houses
Tracks crossing the Frenchman River
Where the ice still holds fast
We live here only on sufferance
In the unceded territory of The Deer
