Hare Hunting

Hunting a snowshoe hare
In the whitewashed woods 
You may as well be blind
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You have to see it before you can see it 
You can’t know until you know 
Like birth or grouse or black trumpets or loss or maple syrup or drunk or carpaccio or sunshine or kissing or killing or the sea 
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Pictures just aren’t the real jumping thing
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You’re looking hard ahead for every part 
Look softly behind you 
it’s always the eye first and then 
snap
There it is 
The whole animal 
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You’re never ready for the first whole animal
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You forget about your gun 
You forget that’s what you’re here for 
And you ogle 
And it’s gone 
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Maybe one day you’ll see it coming 
Maybe not