Buckskin Pond, As the Scales Tip

BY Laurie Klein

Buckskin Pond, as the Scales Tip

Dear buck fawn, day after day,
bark beetles ravage our trees.
Evening’s jawbone moon
illumines the bared claws
of another pine,
Each silver glyph of lichen almost
lucent—except where antlers
Rasp against bark, shedding velvet
the way I have shrugged off my duty
to woods seemingly doomed.

Please, nibbler of pine cones, teach me
how to approach
the dwindling spring:
Angle the neck. Accept the imperfect
Reflection’s whisper, “Heal this place.”
Knees dip. Then, I wade in.