It meant an island where the rabbits ran.

No island anymore, no bunnies.  No wolves

to eat them.

                             I listened with my eyes

to the words of your journey

on the silent glossophone,

it rang around me, dark as I was,

                                                          the
spurs

of words caught in my trouser cuffs.

I am far

                   away
in place but in spirit a pine tree

nearby lets a single clench of needles on my
table,

here, I’m writing around it,

                                                            four needle fingers

on one hand,

                             I
spread out and count them to make sure.