The Hawk and the Hare

The Hawk and the Hare

I lid my eyes, become blind,
block view of distractions,
I find rest in the black bath
hidden by vision,
refreshment in what is sealed
behind rind.
Shadow grows solid.
My mind summons mountains.
I lift my chin, look up.
Watch them turn, bend back,
ascend the air
until they are there.
I wish to be in the wild
where it is as it was,
nothing defiled.
I listen to water.
It trickles down a rocky slope
from the grassy roof of a cave.
A wanderer walks, far off.
I raise my hand and wave.
Few are ever out there,
few want to go.
The way of the hawk and the hare
endures, sure as the wind will blow.

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