the deer walk

when i am alone the deer always walk
on two legs. you drive home & take
three wrong turns. we snake through
weird fresh neighborhoods that look
like movie sets. most of the homes are unsold.
there used to be trees here & weeds
& the occasional wildflower with a heart
of a hummingbird. i don't usually feel 
like anyone can hear me when i talk
except for the deer. i admit that sometimes
i cry alone before bed. it is pathetic.
mostly in the bathroom. on a good night
a deer will walk up to the tiny window
& press her nose to the glass. i will show her
my legs & ask her if she could give me hooves.
i want to run with them through 
all the tongues of men. eat their gardens.
ring their doorbells. enter a new development 
& stand on the ceiling. the guests in the morning
baffled by the wayward hoof prints. 
the worst part is i cannot blame you.
i know i am the kind of lover who runs away.
who avoids making promises. we hang 
a left. the roads thin & you go slow. we are 
in deer country. i am embarrassed & i hope
that none of them are standing, ready to greet me.
is it wrong to want to keep a secret? myself & the deer
with our feet planted in the autumn earth. 
their eyes shine like dimes in the dark. tossed coins
turning into stars. the deer always keep
our secret. i walk out barefoot to bring them
grapes from the fridge.