Would that I could shapeshift.
I'd sprout little horns and run away into the wood.
I'd perceive indentations under trees and curl there;
away from danger I'd chew at rich grasses
no further than neck's length.
One day the sun would insinuate itself
through my ceiling,
glinting on one brown eye.
It would make me cry and the teeth would see my tear.
It would see my tear in an unholy refraction of light
as though the heavens itself could not abide my hiding any longer