Bone Picking Season
It is a hopeless and unhomely thing,
to bump your antlers on every lintel, when everyone wants
your moon-water-smile. Out in the woods – the car-park,
the foreshore, the oily water of the estuary – they feel more comfortable,
like a shout loosed from the throat, like stilts or swords
or a rock that fits tight in your fist.
Deer antlers are made of true bone that is fed by a covering of velvet,
green willow dialectic of soft-hot-fragile and cold-hard-quick.
Beam, palm, brow, bez, trez, royal, surroyal;
the main shaft, flattened center,
then the tines that tell you
how big how good how important
what’s wanted is the highest possible crowning.
harvest, the water line, the patchworked air,
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