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you and me and all the gods

any poet can describe the carcass of day,

         a hollow of bones and time

                      gnawed by death

                      and defeat. so what?

         the truth is: we are alone together

         in this kitchen

         and between us on the table

         lies a blue ceramic bowl

         cradling a fat peach.

                              it is shaped like one idea of beauty.

                              i take it in my palm and wait

                              so that you may gaze out the window

                              and see:

                              a rabbit

                              elongating across a thick lawn.

                              she pauses, nose thinking

                              at the front of her still body.

                              she turns her head.

                              her pink eyes look directly at you:

                              this is lucky.

                              not because of folklore

                              or theory

   but because she is an improbable vehicle of a fantastic god

                       and she contemplates you

                       as if she is witnessing

                       fire approaching from a distant prairie


                       a fellow rabbit

                       on the verge of breaking free.

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