Thursday, July 12, 2007
Dreaming of wounded birds and you, I was
deep in sleep
When the cries came I floated up
Through dark water to an unwelcome light
Five bleats, anguished and raw
A young rabbit in the clover beneath the window.
No scuffle or fight. I hold my breath, waiting for Act II.
Five cries again, but these from high in the air
Halfway down the meadow and fading away
It hangs from curved talons
Borne away into the night
Flying for the first and last time.
In the morning, a single tuft of fur lies in the grass
Too soft to be felt.
I turn it over with my toe
And wonder at a rabbit’s life
The old ones must dread the sudden clutch
Night’s claws, come to take their due.
The young ones: eyes wide with the surprise of it all.
July 12, 2007