Naming the Rabbits
Each time, we peer
with marble-bulging eyes,
wait for the name
to thump its way:
Tilly or Milly, Biff or Bink.
And when it comes,
it also comes as one
of mine, one of my multitude,
long-hidden, dark, each one
a dream of fur and moon.
My fingers graze
a still-damp ear, my own.

Annette Volfing

If you have any comments on this poem, Annette Volfing would be pleased to hear from you.