The Springtime

The red eyes of rabbits 
aren't sad. No one passes
the sad golden village in a barge
any more. The sunset 
will leave it alone. If the 
curtains hang askew 
it is no one's fault.
Around and around and around
everywhere the same sound 
of wheels going, and things 
growing older, growing 
silent. If the dogs
bark to each other
all night, and their eyes 
flash red, that's
nobody's business. They have 
a great space of dark to 
bark across. The rabbits 
will bare their teeth at 
the spring moon.