The speaker pictures a newborn fawn standing in the traffic lane of a highway, just feet from its mother, who lies dead on the shoulder. The fawn is wobbly and bewildered, surrounded by speeding headlights. Rather than describing the scene from a distance, the speaker speaks directly to the animal, asking questions it cannot answer: how it got there, who cleaned it, whether it will be hit, who will feed it.
The opening line is striking. "You will never again be this alone or alive" suggests that this moment of terror is also the sharpest moment of life the fawn will know. The questions then turn darker, ending with the blunt image of a highway crew or crows "recycling" the body. That word is coldly practical, which makes the sadness hit harder.
The mood is tender, anxious and helpless. The speaker can't intervene, and the final line, "I cannot sleep for thinking of you," shows how deeply the image has stayed with them.