Holy Innocent

When you are prey, sleep doesn’t come easily.
Rest and vigilance become unlikely bedfellows, as it were.
I learned this from my rabbit, who startles at the sound of a footstep
even from the one who feeds him. He lives in my house,
but instinct tells him predators are near.
He is like a refugee from war
a child who flinches at a raised hand
a woman undressed by a look.
A holy innocent, who accepts my
touch, even knowing Herod is out there.

 

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