The red eyes of rabbits

aren't sad. No one passes

the sad golden village in a barge

any more. The sunset

will leave it alone. If the

curtains hang askew

it is no one's fault.

Around and around and around

everywhere the same sound

of wheels going, and things

growing older, growing

silent. If the dogs

bark to each other

all night, and their eyes

flash red, that's

nobody's business. They have

a great space of dark to

bark across. The rabbits

will bare their teeth at

the spring moon.

—Denise Levertov (Selected poems)