I did, was kissed, had flowers flung over
my head. The trade—a title for a name.
My part to play all planned, all squared away
with bed and fence and dinner. Lucky me,
the rabbit—pets from prey and small game made,
instincts intact. A nearly endless field
of vision. Sleep midday with open eyes;
run zigzags in dreams through dead grass, past lives.
Familiar fear, forever fear; Tuesday.
I don’t know how, but one of us will be
second—the other first—to die. Sorry
I worry. My nature. All potential.
Nothing will wed it out of me. Other—
I don’t want your love, but give it to me.