53

In Praise of Brother Rabbit

I have not wept you. The heart cries

answer of the respondent heart

and you could not endure replies.

I had my art,

each new year’s greening loves, or leaves

fallowing an autumnal ground

for some next spring. And will reprieves

us whom it bound.

Now I can pass your firm demand

for silence at the loud, shocked core,

the curt, cheerful lie, the dropped hand

locking the door

and remember which strength you knew

how to live out, and that you dared

trust it, alone as darkness grew,

and one joy shared.