The snowshoe Hare who lives in the tangle of downed trees
I am the red havoc who brings
fire to reflect in their eyes,
smoke to darken their skin
“Nothing can happen more beautiful than death.” –Walt Whitman
When every wing is folded, every song cut short
Who am I to say
what is impossible?
The daughters of the wind
Let us renew our vows, bear.
Let us pass, bear.
Two miles away the enemy’s child turned to see
her flash of light and felt his eardrums shatter
Now is the weight in the hand of ripened daylight