The Cloud of Promise by Marc Rahe
Lifting herself and almost-dropping forward
the rabbit advances to the next violet.
I call Leigh to the window and touch
her back while we watch. We admire
the high alertness of rabbit ears
and the quick chewing. We imagine
what multitasking is. Steam rises
from our coffee. Inside,
the air is still sky.
The door is closed. There
is no door. From our coffee,
the dark cloud rises. Dry
ground is hard to shovel.
On consecutive days, we have each
killed a spider in the shower.
The neighbor has a manual mower
he would push past his garden.
The cloud is promising.
Share to Twitter
Share to Facebook
Share to Pinterest
The Cloud of Promise