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.