horns.

the thing about the antelope is that he does not know the difference between the grass and the ocher.  between the fence and the fall.  he tilts his feral head towards the august sky and smells the monsoon on the slow and steady breath of the earth, is unconcerned.  runs to feel the hard stage below him, does not tire, does not slow, does not imagine anything better.  does not imagine.  he grazes.  knows the time of which the sun becomes sleepy, crawls across the horizon until it is hidden in the grasses.  sleeps tawny-colored with the sun and does not worry about night-terrors and hungry mouths until the moment they sniff him out.