The Hare

I

That Elf

Riding his awkward pair of haunchy legs

That weird long-eared Elf

Wobbling down the highway

Don’t overtake him, don’t try to drive past him,

He’s scatty, he’s all over the road,

He can’t keep his steering, in his ramshackle go-cart,

His big loose wheels, buckled and rusty,

Nearly wobbling off

And all the screws in his head wobbling and loose

And his eyes wobbling

II

The Hare is a very fragile thing.

The life in the hare is a glassy goblet, and her yellow-fringed frost-flake belly says: Fragile.

The hare’s bones are light glass. And the hare’s face –

Who lifted her face to the Lord?

Her new-budded nostrils and lips,

For the daintiest pencillings, the last eyelash touches

Delicate as the down of a moth,

And the breath of awe

Which fixed the mad beauty-light

In her look

As if her retina

Were a moon perpetually at full.

Who is it, at midnight on the A30,

The Druid soul,

The night-streaker, the sudden lumpy goblin

That thumps your car under the belly

Then cries with human pain

And becomes a human baby on the road

That you dare hardly pick up?

Or leaps, like a long bat with little headlights,

Straight out of darkness

Into the driver’s nerves

With a jangle of cries

As if the car had crashed into a flying harp

So that the driver’s nerves flail and cry

Like a burst harp.

III

Uneasy she nears

As if she were being lured, but fearful,

Nearer.

Like a large egg toppling itself – mysterious!

Then she’ll stretch, tall, on her hind feet,

And lean on the air,

Taut – like a stilled yacht waiting on the air –

And what does the hunter see? A fairy woman?

A dream beast?

A kangaroo of the March corn?

The loveliest face listening,

Her black-tipped ears hearing the bud of the blackthorn

Opening its lips,

Her black-tipped hairs hearing tomorrow’s weather

Combing the mare’s tails,

Her snow-fluff belly feeling for the first breath,

Her orange nape, foxy with its dreams of the fox –

Witch-maiden

Heavy with trembling blood – astounding

How much blood there is in her body!

She is a moony pond of quaking blood

Twitched with spells, her gold-ringed eye spellbound –

Carrying herself so gently, balancing

Herself with the gentlest touches

As if her eyes brimmed –