Far from Sea

Jackrabbit. On a schoolpath streetlights

allow the eye inside stands of palms

as revolving night winds part the fronds.

The rabbit’s high spirals pulse, all-hearing

conches of the furred helmet. He bends

a little, laps the path’s filthy edge, ears

perked for a change in pitch. It’s as if

he’ll inch into the trees again if I step

one footlength closer. If I keep very still,

I will still be on the road, a person; line

with a canopy overhead. My umbrella

rustles. I am aware of the noise it makes

when I switch hands. Behind me,

the lit way. Ahead the planes of dark

echo and I am being tracked now,

I know it. I cup a hand to my ear

to capture the sound.