Brother Hare by Katherine Venn

Born with your clothes on, trembling in your scrape,
wide eyes open, soft, as new things are, warm;
alone, pressed small into a shallow form:
hope peers to see you in your shifted shape.
Peace, the angel whispers. And yet we shy
away from you, small one, with your split lip
running from the north with news of friendship,
grace tumbling like snow from a friendly sky.
No rest for you, grey one; you won’t be tamed.
Love of speed’s the only home for him who
has no ground, when trouble comes, to run to.
And still you dance, brother hare, trickster named;
you turn and turn again across the field,
winking at the moon, on joyful heels.