by Eve Robillard

I CATCH A MOUSE & CARRY IT
TO THE CONFEDERATE CEMETERY
AT TWO O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING

Your coffins
were hasty
and crude, I am sure

and little is left
of you now--
a buckle, perhaps,

or a sword,
a button gleaming like a heart
between your wandering ribs,

but this is to say
there is moonlight
and rain

somewhere a fiddle
and now this mouse (little scout, little grey)
little far-from-home.

-from everything happens twice (Fireweed Press, 2002)