Fixing its stare on my stare, the rabbit’s stillness is countersignature
to a contract I hadn’t realized
I’d already signed.
A child-like willingness today
was, only yesterday, an embryo
in the womb of my resistance.
A wrist of stratocumulus lies slack against blue sky,
the bone of it stolen by wind
to nourish the wildflowers at my feet.
Thriving, as fog thrives in air, diffusely—this will be
my model for every pact
I make with emptiness.