Revisionist Poetry – Almost Invisible, v.2

Notice the hare— a seam in the field:
fur threaded from river silt to sky-smoke,
a mottled map that answers no one.

It folds into the green, spine a taut wire,
breath stitched thin along a blade of grass.
Eyes half-open like coins tilted to light,
a small percussion beating behind the ribs.

Ears pivot—radar for footstep and wing-shadow—
listening to the silence as if it were a thing.
Sun skims its flank; heat passes like a rumour.
Muscles set; the world accelerates and it becomes still.

Not stubbornness but a practiced economy:
a small body reducing itself to less than question.
It does not wait so much as enact disappearance—
no movement, no name, only patient absence.

Pass by as if you know nothing of it.
Let the field keep its private geometry.
Hold your foot; let the grass forget you saw it—
and let it remain until even the wind cannot find it.