Hare

From the stationary train, stopping for a moment
at points, I see a large hare
loping slowly over the iron rails of a frozen field.

Dropping on its haunches, it too pauses,
cleft lip and nose quivering delicately
picking up the faintest trace of musk.

Glancing this way and that, ears pivoting
it crosses the waves and furrows of glinting earth
until a second hare appears, smaller and paler than the first.

Is this an annual tryst I wonder
an old buck and his middle aged mate
this field, this date, this late February?

Together they head off
Leggy and ungainly
towards the cover of the hedge.

Spring quickens. Blood stirs.
Above the frost, the sky a perfect blue.
Below, the ground creaks with longing.

copyright Liz Woods 2010