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The Cottontail
watched me
climb
a steep hill
to meet her
at the Cross –
road.
She split the stone.
Datura delusions emerge
from this bloodline.
I stumble
down down down…
Her feet beat
a mourning drum
I’m in free fall.
Tropical mist
chokes mountain air.
What force
can annihilate
this hopeless story?
Both Hares
dead – one murdered,
the other abandoned
by the Moon.