Irenic

My elation is straying.

Irenic,

My eyes close.

 

The man behind the curtain is hollow,

and the curtain has thousands

of loathsome love letters pinned to it.

 

My rabbit opines on my snowing skills.

The cold,

a little caustic,

Agrees.

 

In the refurbished grass

a wild warren dines.

I walk over,

pale as a breeze,

to feast.