Four Poems

Seeing a Hare

Early morning and I went out full of poetry –
not words but breath, air –
and took a small sandy path along a field;
no matter which way it went.

Suddenly a hare sprang from the ditch,
stopped by the path edge as if waiting to cross,
sat still and looked at me.

Its large and shining eye,
upright ears angled for threat,
were tuned to an unseen world
while the long hind legs folded on the earth
kept in touch with the root of its life.

It seemed a conjured hope, not a solid creature,
visiting presence in a camouflage coat.
Then in a second it was up and gone
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