Rabbit Walk

Brett Warren

All around me, trees and shrubs infringe

on gravestones, while lichens write their stories

over names and dates. Under the ground,

where once I imagined only the remains

of the remains of the dead, twisting tunnels

are being dug next to concrete vaults.

Burrows are being made and remade.

All these passages here all along,

all this life going on while I’ve wasted my time

being angry and afraid, my brokenness

a different kind of death.

This morning, walking the cemetery, I am broken

alive. I’ve come here to look for rabbits,

denizens of the edges and in-betweens,

like me. I greet each one I see:

May you live as long as you wish.

The young like buttons newly undone.

The grown, their faces thinning and wise.

This one flattening down into the grass.

That one sitting still, upright as an urn.