before the last act

[ludo_lun]

In a drawer filled with the past
a rabbit, once white, now yellow with age and
knowledge and consequence, peeks out
towards you, secure in his frozen moment atop
a bluff of snow deep in a birch forest.

There is no language you share
other than the language of temperature:
that which is warm comforts,
that which is hot destroys
(and purifies),
that which is cold awakens
(and causes to sleep).

The dim light of the basement begins
as a handicap, but conjoined in darkness,
the rabbit and the child realize a prayer:

"I wish a blanket of snow to warm you."