Fallow wisdom recalls that these
Shallow flat stones are slow going
The young bound ahead, excited things
That still have spots, or still need them.

Females follow steps behind, furtive;
They have been grazed by things,
Nose the surface of the brown water, everything
Smells large and everything pends acceptance.

They are calm enough to
Stay near the road, a bit closer to
People on the bank; too-obviously still,
Profuse with treacherous life.

Common Terns circle and drop
Like a child’s stone, time and again
Behavior that is imprinted safe,
Perhaps only a tail twitch, a recognition

Far dogs are trembling, static.
It doesn’t matter who noticed first
Deer are the precise color of
Brush into which they vanish.