In My Field

Sleep Rabbits

So I should recount to you

the passing day.

The bandaged wrist of the

server at coffee.

The death of family frail

amid the tubes.

Ending with an ovation to

important immediacy.

or

In the early winter morning

four rabbits sleep in the field I pass

appearing or disappearing like the snow.

Foot traffic drives them out during the day

they crouch amid gravel bed and shrubs

chivvied here, there, somewhere.

That’s where they go but what is it

about this cold dry windswept field

that brings them back?

                                       Guy