deer who are not there

i find their footprints.
follow them into the dark. 
you are calling me nonstop.
we do not ever rid ourselves
of one another. a first love is like
a broken sundial. i was talking to you
in the wild rain. the deer were there too.
are always there & not there.
when a deer dies too soon her ghost lasts
as long as the earth. i find them devouring
ghost corn at the cross roads. i sleep
for seven days & seven nights. the land 
asks who i am & i explain that i 
have never known. the pangea 
of my heart. not a fracture but a 
slow separation. you have my mountain
on your face. the deer, like soldiers 
in the moon-cast shadows. i eat nothing.
become a deer & then a deer ghost too.
there is a skeleton which i have watched
disperse on the side of the road. 
first the coyotes came & then the foxes 
& then the gardener & then the birds
& the bugs & the teenagers who drive drunk
through the field roads. litter their little bottles
in the crooks of the path's neck. that deer
tries her best to follow her body. a rib carried
to the creek. a tooth on my necklace.
i feed the bones when i remember to.
a pocket of goji berries. a splash of soda. 
we all get what we can. i have a highway life.
most of the time all i can do is love 
like a gas station. come here. be a deer 
in the distance. follow the light.
i almost have what you need.