For Ms. Brandi

Instead of poets, I will henceforth write about rabbits...

Anatomy of a Rabbit

I've never considered
his opening like flyleaves
(folio, quarto)
much of a science.
He is simply pulled apart.
Could something so easily got
be relished
a slender volume
tipped
from the shelf, sleekly even?
How could we be so lithe?
Hopping is a gesture
of self-deprecation, of loss,
like words erased before
entering utterance.
I warrant his hindlegs
are brash as a whistle,
a pulse one feels
in the ear,
prescient of touch.