hazel rod

i have become a disciple of protection spells.
i plant a deer tooth at the edge of the yard 
where the world ends. the cattle come only
when there's fog. i hear their hooves on the roof
& i run outside to let them graze on my hair.
tragedy makes me more superstitious.
it starts with the money spells & spills into
everything else. i only cut my hair when 
the moon is full. a hazel tree grows in the closet
& i share it with no one. protection that is greedy
is not really protection. i tell myself i have 
to invite the whole street. i have to open my door
& not just talk to cows. i need to bring people
to the tree. make offerings. ask for branches.
then maybe we could all walk around with
our hazel rods. the only trouble is hazel branches can
also lead to invisibility so i'm told. i imagine 
walking around without the weight of being
seen. but i want to see the neighbor with
her barefoot rooms & her long hair. i want to see
the children chasing geese. i visit the tree.
it grows in wild cork screws. i feed it beef jerky.
a little betrayal to the cows. it is the hazel tree's
favorite though. i feel often caught between 
the world & my body. i guess that is what it means
to be living. when i finally take a branch 
from the tree i think the first thing i'm going
to do is walk out into the middle of the corn field.
i want to see if the coyotes can smell me. i want
to see if the cows follow. if, on all fours, i am
something other than a fearful animal
though i already know i am not.