A Hare in the Mountains

One alert touch of a singular energy

tingles the collar of my boot

as tough pad flat back feet

startle my wakeful doze,

golden fatigue gift from

the red-eyed midnight sun.

Beside my prone form

a tight single sinew

squats all ready-steady,

one taut muscle with dark eyes,

a cocked crossbow of a hare.

The mere focus of my glance

triggers a starter pistol

in the crackling air between us;

the throbbing tendon untenses,

snaps like a sheet in the wind

and lithes away, springing

a crazy-pave hopscotch;

a unique half-sane path

sprinters the alarmed rocks.

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