The Jerboa

When it rises, a flash, one ear, a pike-nosed swirl! Almost without a sound, a shape that comes and leaves, under a sun that creates, its own mystery to touch. The desert reveals, yet lays forth its coil, why so reticent while it sends signals of the kind of life, detached by knees, proud feet. Its tail offers direction, inquisite unmistakable like many still scattered moments that pass, while respecting its locus, remain where the shadows cast.

Transgressed and repressed, the moment’s flash is gone—Moor calls back, only its shade like a willow rests among pale roots。</s>

• Marianne Moore