The antelope looks at me and then runs off, carrying his world in his head. There are hills behind his eyes, secret fields and backyards only he can visit. Suddenly I am back in my original self, watching him bend his neck down to graze and entering a moment of total thoughtlessness: I am nothing, and the only thing that matters is the eternal instant of the present. But once he spots me and runs away, the trees feel even older than before.
Clayton Arble is a poet from Holyoke, Massachusetts.