The hare we had run over
Bounced about the road
On the springing curve
Of its spine.
Cornfields breathed in the darkness,
We were going through the darkness and
The breathing cornfields from one
Important place to another.
We broke the hare’s neck
And made that place, for a moment,
The most important place there was,
Where a bowstring was cut
And a bow broken forever
That had shot itself through so many
Darknesses and cornfields.
It was left in that landscape.
It left us in another.