Hare
A white hare has been living in my back yard all winter
in his home in the cave under the fir tree.
He thumps the snow from his feet against the house
Perhaps just to sound his hundred names.
The imprint of those feet is white on white,
small scrim and blush on the snow and a prophecy
of seedlings under the tree are also all we know of him.
Everywhere that winter there were rumours
small reports and the sky heavy with doubt.
Clear doubt.