When a hair dye
becomes a mixed drink
and she refuses to use
either. And two rabbits

in an alley won’t alter
the message hidden
in a cellar window well.

The way they freeze
and frame the unkempt path
of grass, dirt, and concrete
is its own refusal.

If there’s blood.
If they die, she will seek
a wild justice.

But first in a hot flash,
she’ll comb the patch
of sky visible between
those two brownstones

for clues of ruined
memory. For a simple
dark cloud

that might break
in time for rain
to cascade
over more red hot rubble.