The rabbit did not make a sound

He thought it would squeal more  as he lifted it by its ears

Entering the woods in early daylight  the branches covered with signs of winter

Ghosts formed from his breath

Odd shapes of unfamiliar faces

On this day someone was going to die

Death is the true birth he thought     as the rabbit kicked his skin open

Soon his hands would grow

One of these days  his boots would no longer fit

No boy would survive   killing a rabbit of this size