To Hush and Listen
The rabbit, still in the meadow,
its brown ears rising as two stalks
of dry grass, isn’t frozen
with fear for the wolf prays
in the shadows that cool
the woodland’s heart and the fox
naps in an oak stump hollowed
by time and rain. This morning,
the rabbit listens to a harp,
music dosuing the meadow,
white flowers and shoots of green,
music as gentle as rain, music and mist.
Somwhere, on the grassy fringe
where elm roots burrow deep
and the oak’s broad arms deny
the earth its light, a forest spirit,
elf or imp, rests with its back
to a tree, strumming a harp’s strings,
dreaming of water and light.
The rabbit knows to hush and listen.