Boxing in the middle of the big field.
The wide white light of the moon
Tearing shadows into fragments
Of black and white confetti.
These magical creatures,
Owned by witches and wizards,
Bring magic with them.
They are the first to see darkness
Detach itself from the silent hedgerows.
The first to hear hunters
Drop to the cold ground,
To steal the hare’s likeness
For their photograph albums.
Greedy to capture the joyful secrets
Of wild creatures made of magic,
Eyes full of white moonlight,
Ears that semaphore night secrets.
Witches and wizards hiding
In the darkness of fretwork trees,
Balancing on stones in icy rivers.
To scare away those who desire
To see the beauty of March hares,
Boxing in white moonlight.
© 2021 Gwen Grant