Hare

 

The snowshoe hare paused just feet

from where you 

stood, well within the borders

of a tree-lined path

 

and you regarded one another

while the rain-wet hemlocks 

ruffled their wings

and the ground beneath you, sunlit,

steamed

 

as if the time for change

had come

 

but the hare merely worked its busy nose

and the petals of its ears

above the soft, submerged stone

of its body.

 

It was you that stirred first

snapping the stick beneath your shoe

and staring, breathless, as the hare

transformed

 

from solid to what leapt

like light 

or joy

and dappled across the forest floor

 

with an invitation

to set loose 

your own life  

 

changed 

by releasing

 

what once

held it back.