You must be still. You must be as a photograph. The slightest
tremor could provoke the antlers’ unexpected flight
into the wallpaper’s pattern of birches.
If you do it right, you should feel the coronets
rooting painlessly into your skull.
Let only those who look you in the eye see where you are.
You must will yourself invisible to everyone else,
or else you must will them all blind.
If you do it right, you will feel your blood rush to the velvet
tissue regenerating on the polished bones.
But you must be still, and your human silhouette
must be broken by the shadows of green leaves
nourished by a spear of light.
If you do it right, the birch grove will surround you,
and the predators will never know that you were there.
Standing in Front of Antlers Mounted on a Wall so They Look Like They’re Growing from Your Head
1 December 2014