Hounds will not sniff me out
this Place I chose long ago.
But I will hear the paws
and know it was you—
who sent these servants to
howl out my hollow bones.
But I will not be found. No.
Not one piece. Not for
one hundred years.
My eye lashes are mine.
You cannot bottle me
for your butterfly collection.
This was my choice to make.
Not yours.
And you cannot take
this one
from me—
Not in this Place.

But all the same,
I appreciate the concern
and I am Happy,
knowing the hounds are well fed,
sleeping nights
outside our red barn
atop the sesame hill,
overlooking my bed.

written on 11/09/2010 by: Matt Kane