Let’s say we were looking for deer by Joanne Epp

We weren’t looking for moose. We were there
to watch the slow fade from sunset to dark,
leafless trees turning from etchings to watercolours.
We were there for the frogs hurrahing
in the pond, the creak and chirp that welled up
when you turned off the car. Not for the moose
that are always there (the guy at the gas station
said) at the deserted railway crossing
at sunset. We were looking for the red-tailed
hawk that spread its wings and flew
as soon as we lifted binoculars. And, farther off,
the mourning doves’ complaint, ooh, ooh.
Most of all we were looking for deer: for a pair
facing opposite directions, distant in a field;
for six that paused to stare at us before
they leapt away, flashing white tails; for eight,
or ten, gathered so close we couldn’t count them;
and finally two more, just as sunset faded,
everything went grey, and we turned
back to town, having pulled this wish list
out of thin air, and checked off
everything at once.

— from Juniper Volume 7, Issue 3