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.