Running Hare
He keeps airborne, skimming over the grass
defying a specific gravity
of joy or fear.
He hurtles into a tunnel of space ahead.
The land accommodates his passage -
gives way.
A walleyed rapture, a blind bounding
the sky rolls over his whiskers
aiding the hares leaping heart.
He escapes the eye
barreling into nowhere until gone.
A waving grass
ripples into stillness once more,
reclaims the moment
the hare had just fled from.
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