By Becky Kennedy

The dark unwrapped itself,

as around the hawk that brush-painted the sky

when the trees were shaggy with dusk.

It cycled down;

its prey leapt from the grass to greet it,

a wild rabbit about as long as a girl’s arm

that became a flash of life;

and you covered your eyes,

as when you carried flowers in a vase

and, turning, saw the light displaced

by memory, and the beloved face

and self there and the words,

the exquisite gestures

all fell to the floor,

the dark crashing in

and the flowers and wet leaves splashed everywhere.