A brown hare washes her face
in the lane while the hare in the moon
looks on. The hare in the moon
carries an egg, new cycle of life
that comes in the spring. But now,
itís autumn, the sky closing in,
fir trees inking footprints
on the gray silk sky. A luminous sky,
tattered with crows. Two swans,
ruffled lilies, float in the lakeís bright bowl.
Some fairyís touched all the trees overnight,
turned them orange, yellow, and red. All of
the green fields are clotted with sheep. What
is the world, but the body of God?
~Barbara Crooker


poems online



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