by Elisabeth Lewis Corley Issue: Spring/Summer 2017
When the ears light up in the last light
you can see through.
The hare in the high grass goes as still
as your breathing.

His ears are alight. You are listening too. 

The wren arrives in the aural field
like an alarm
as loud as a god, the one you long for,
the one with answers. 

The wren says cheerily, cheerily, cheerily. 

Fields away another answers like the echo
chamber in your chest,
the hare with the ears of light still—
in arrest. 

He’s as afraid of you as you are, tuning the last light.

Elisabeth Lewis Corley

Elisabeth Lewis Corley’s poems have appeared in Southern Poetry Review, Hyperion, Carolina Quarterly, Feminist Studies, BigCityLit, and New Haven Review. She holds an M.F.A. in poetry from the Warren Wilson Program for Writers and a B.A. with Highest-Honors-in-Poetry from the University of North Carolina at Chapel where she sometimes teaches poetry in performance and screenwriting. Her short film, “About Time,” directed by Joseph Megel and produced by Harland’s Creek Productions, made the festival rounds in 2013.