Forest Runner (roughy)

He ran, because he couldn't bear to walk. There was something within him that urged him forward at a pace he could not seem to match. Still, he tried. He ran. All urgency, pushing branches aside and breaking through others. At sporadic moments he would leap down the hillside and slide upon the leaves and soil, and then he would run some more. No destination in particular, just a void. It was raining, and before long he was coated in mud and bits of forest matter in the form of leaves and moss stuck to his skin and hair. He smelled the rich texture of the earth, and ever so slightly he tasted it on his tongue. He wanted to become a part of it, to absorb it through his pores until he'd rupture. He imagined unfurling in a fountain of fungal decay.

Antlered Elders

Its bones now branched beyond
Externally, out from its skull,
blanketed in a film of velvet
He thought how luxurious it would be
to lay upon them at their widest point
in that parabolic plane of ivory
And there he'd sleep, curled,
embryonic as intended, secure
To wake each new morning
from the steady rise and fall of it
upon sights before unseen
Sacred haunts, ancient, known only
to the antlered elders of the glade