In the dawn-dirty light, in the biggest snow of the year,
Two blue-dark deer stood in the road, alerted.

They had happened onto my dimension
The moment I was arriving just there.

They planted their two or three years of secret deerhood
Clear on my snow-screen vision of the abnormal

And hesitated in the all-way disintegration
And stared at me. And so for some lasting seconds

I could think the deer were waiting for me
To remember the password and sign

That the curtain had blown aside for a moment
And there where the trees were no longer trees, nor the
   road a road
The deer come for me.

Then they ducked through the hedge, and upright they
   rode their legs
Away downhill over a snow-lonely field

Towards tree dark — finally
Seeming to eddy and glide and fly away up

Into the boil of big flakes.
The snow took them and soon their nearby hoofprints as
   well

Revising its dawn inspiration
Back to the ordinary.