Run, run, run!
Rabbit,
run, run!
The farmer doesn’t sleep
while you eat
Run, run!
The storm precedes you,
as it always does
Run, run, little one!
Your heart, like mine
is merely meat
still beating, and warm
inside its fence
We are both
constantly
hungry for something
your red leaf,
your romaine,
your fur-covered flesh is in the dirt
eating away at itself,
so is my colder skin
Little rabbit,
little soul,
my warm-bellied love,
aren’t we both true hunters
of the sodden earth?
the goldfinches,
the steady warblers,
always stop their song
in the stabbing brambles
count the syllables
of silence
in perfect time
making way for thunder
God announces
himself
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