One morning—for a blink—a black rabbit
forages in downtown Seattle. I witness,
grin—the rabbit knows shortcuts
The ears, the rabbit, vanish
into a regal silhouette
She—a crow—raises her critical eye,
smoothes her plumage.
I am not Alice.
For a blink, this crow was my rabbit.
As her beak prodded planting strip,
her tail swung high
and those rounded feathers split
to make two ears, soft, dark, lupine.
Presto! A black rabbit two blocks from REI.
It could happen. The next night, I did glimpse
the bouncy, silent passage
of a feral bunny
at the Valley Ridge Playfield parking lot
but did not follow. In the darkness
I admit it is that crow who called hocus-pocus.