Green uneasiness steps from the plane into a room
of hesitant fire ants itching to devour
old enough to know he's not the sweet stag they think he is
their cataract sight kaleidoscopes impossible ideals
whose weight slams invisibly onto feral haunches disguised as shoulders.
Consumption imminent, he feeds them blood knowing these crawlers would
follow him to Antarctica for one grain of sugar from his barbwire mouth
hating their hunger, craving their insect eyes that fuel his running hooves
he escapes the volcano of funnel web skirts.
Not quite close enough to lock antlers of imagined ancient animal memory
I abandon hooded sidelong glances, the horse in me bolted
unwilling to risk annihilation in robin's egg seashell eyes,
now there's nothing left to trample fear but butterflies
I contemplate this wounded boy buck in a man's suit of flesh and Iceland.