There is a rabbit who stands, tall
and proud, at the bottom of my body

with a pair of glimmering antlers

protruding from his marbled crown.

​

He speaks, not from his mouth,
but from viscous words which drip
like molten honey around us. he admonishes,

‘do not be afraid’.

​

Small dandelion wisps cluster
around the edges of his fidgeting eyes

and that voice, flickering candle in a dark

room, scorches like a hardy bonfire.

​

‘I am who you sent for,’ he hums
at my landlocked disbelief, ‘when you prayed

to the star-lit sky for deliverance. for a saviour.

for relief.

​

‘You have pulled me from the garden

of the stars in which my family sit

and so I offer you this parting gift:

one wish.’

​

Mushrooms, a decadent decay irremovable

from my moss skin, tilt their heads to catch

my weather-ravaged croak.
‘I would like,’ I say, ‘to be sung to sleep.’

​

The rabbit twitches- whiskers hit staccato rhythms-

and he tilts his head, narrows his eyes to examine

the crevices which inhibit me. ‘the truth is, life
is so long and I am so very tired;

​

‘I would like to feel peace, if just for a moment

under the soft breath of a warm song.’
he shrugs, ears flopping to encase his white-fur

shoulders, and begins his melody.

​

Fireflies perform their last rights above me
as gentle petals bloom across my hillside body,

weave a thick quilt of flowers
which hold me safe and warm.

​

For now, it does not matter that I will be gone
by morning. the only importance is that I am safe,

with a star-song lulling me to sleep
under the watchful speckled sky.