Aug 312011

Where an ArrowLine desert bus
Came exhausted to a standstill,
And made small swirls in the greater dust,
A long-eared hare on a hill
Listened to the engine's cooling clatter,
Saw pasty faces at grimy sills
Look out at what was the matter.

With fingerfine lips, from a cactus,
A stolen blossom became the hare
In the open purview of the bus, 
One-sided with a crowd of stares.
Almost the timid leaper started,--
Taken by a kisser's shyness
To see so many lips half-parted.

Stilly as a waiting blossom does,
The hare attended the airy all
That sighed a quiet from the bus
(Attentive now as if stalled),
The arrow mastered enough to wait
For what the desert deemed or willed.
At unbidden wind, from dead-still 
Into dead dust
                       the leaper leapt.

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