Coelhinho

Intending to perceive, he did nothing
of the sort. The city so easily papered
over with pre-recorded chatter, diurnal
opinion economy, with ads in Portuguese
left me for later at the Lisbon airport
three months ago; as between two high
banks of snow a bunny-rabbit freezes
at the approach of an intruder, trapped
in desire paths it never wanted, cannot
know, while the double bagged groceries
pull reliably down, down, down. A black
pickup in my dream last night, stalling
just beyond my awareness, fires a single
bullet as I flee to the dappled woods.