As the sky clotted wounds with gauzy clouds,
the rabbit curled and channeled doctor Jack.
The spectre of that Detroiter appeared
upon command. Some would say he hustled.
“Speak to my flying foil,” the rabbit coaxed.
“If she hears your thesis, she will descend,
which is my legitimate last craving.
Nature has taken back my graceful trait.”
Shadows of the wind leapt off of boulders
and Kevorkian saw the leg mangled.
“The condor and I are long familiar.
I will advocate, but she will decide.”
Within the hour the scavenger had switched
into her indifferent costume, and out
of the television a crystal wind
materialized. Soft evidence swam
in the gentle flow of the drapery
beautifying a Michigan chamber
where a woman waited impatiently
to receive the results of her house call.