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Aug 132013
 

by Robert Rothman

 

You spring                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      so far

                        twenty feet or more

                                                                        holding in the air

                                    gliding

                                                                                    the world

            beneath your bounce

                                                                                                oh, the arc

the zigzag of desire

                                                                        the coiled strength                                

                                                                                                                        the leap

            toward unknown ground                               

                                                                                    and when down

                                                            back up so fast                                                           

                                                                                                            air seems home

more than ground

                                                 the impassable thicket of bush and bramble

             sailed over     

                                                thorns, pricklers, barbs

              no impediment                                 

                                                                        to sky-bound imagination      

                        the perfect trust                                                          

                                                                                    in the hop

upward and away                                                                              

                                                                                                            into the day

                        the landing                                         

                                                                                                a springboard

            to the future

                                                                                    the hind leg joy

                                    the flopping ears

                                                                                              the windblown whiskers

                                                            the twitching nose

               the large-eyed stare

                                                                                    fur furrowed by breeze

front paws dangling

                                                                        where                                                                         

            will you go     

                                                                                                next

                                    no map

                                                                                                            can trace out

                                                a guide

                                                                                                to your idiosyncratic

leaps and bounds

                                                            too alive

                                                                                    to be patterned and captured.

Rabbit