The Kill

The rabbit on my lawn was thrown sideways, by some razor-clawed hawk. The carcass is fresh and still mainly unmolested. I guess the hawk took flight when I opened the door. After the violence there's a gap, an hiatus, a softly rooted abeyance. At some time, a time far beyond the next breath the raptor will plunge out of the evening to pluck the meat away. Until then, I, the hawk and maybe even the dead rabbit must wait suspended upon a thin thread of disquiet; eyes fixed upon each moment while we watch the gap get longer.