Prince with a Thousand Enemies

They say that Frith gave them
Teeth,
Claws,
As vengeance for the insolence of rabbits.
I cradle the empty vessel in my hand,
Pipkin, warming my fingers.

She sits beside, washing her paws.

In my dreams I am rabbit-heart, fleet-foot,
They chant, they scream: "Run! Run! Run!
Rest not upon the bed of Actaeon."
We are but pieces to Gods
in their unceasing games.
Champions that rise and fall
as their entertainment wanes.

I return the small corpse to its resting place
underneath the frame of the climbing plant,
Which no-one has informed of its own death.

And at once, she liberates its flesh from its bones,
Gnaws until clean, milky white is revealed.
They say that Frith would not have given her
Teeth,
Claws,
But for the insolence of rabbits.

Now, I must wash my hands.