Jack Hare

The quality of light is my fight

In a walled garden perceived, blushing

The clarity of sound all around

The bowl babbling imbues, solid sky

And she is song, and she is word

And she is plough, and I am bolt

And I am green, and I am house

And I am blue, and I am fault

And I am moth, and I am true

And I am false, and I am cloud

And I am shape, and I am sweet

And I am pull, and I am kiss

And I am croak, and I am wax

And I am cow, and I am pain

And I am felt, and I am till

And I am tell, and I am wheat

The praises of the hare on the air

And I am dog, and I am bar, and I am field, and I am wane

Incantatory words, turning

And she is song, and she is word, and she is plough, and I am bolt

And I am green, and I am house, and I am blue, and I am fault

The litany of clay on this day

And I am moth, and I am true, and I am false, and I am cloud

And I am shape, and I am sweet, and I am pull, and I am kiss

In reeds rippling, bequeathed, burning

And I am croak, and I am wax, and I am cow, and I am pain

And I am felt, and I am till, and I am tell, and I am wheat