Inside me is a chamber
Four walls, a ceiling and floor.
One door exists but I cannot Catch It.

It shuffles around the room
And I follow—Circling
It is flush with the walls—
ceiling and floor,
Blending like a hare against
An empty Frosted Field.

How I wish I were a hare—
Bounding across,
Infinitely glittering snow.
What I would Do—to
Stick my head in Snow—to
Feel its Tingle on my Nose—to
To rustle its custody
From my fur.

But I am no Wild Hare in the snow
I am Not Limitless—Bounding
through fields—no
I am enclosed in my chamber,
Four walls, a ceiling and floor
One door—
I cannot Catch, I am Tired
Of Circling,
Circling,
Circling.