CarrollBlog 2.10

Searchers

by Jim Harrison

At dawn Warren is on my bed,

a ragged lump of fur listening

to the birds as if deciding whether or not

to catch one. He has an old man's

mimsy delusion. A rabbit runs across

the yard and he walks after it

thinking he might close the widening distance

just as when I followed a lovely woman

on boulevard Montparnasse but couldn't equal

her rapid pace, the click-click of her shoes

moving into the distance, turning the final

corner, but when I turned the corner

she h...