Does Death Multiply Like Rabbits?

In the quiet spaces between life and death, I often find myself listening for echoes. This poem began as a meditation on mortality, but became something stranger, more rhythmic—like a song you remember from a dream.

---

Death is a dissonant chord; a minor third
Life’s stickiness wiped clean
Plastic bags: a prayer

Does death multiply like rabbits?

Death is an exalted, harmonious major
An omission of the third
A struggle and release, 22 grams of lightness

Does death multiply like rabbits?

Death is a soft wind pipe, high-pitched and subtle
The last silent snowflake; the last imprinted earth
Lonely and alone

Does death multiply like rabbits?

It is soft fur and warm breath turned cold
A kiss upon a sweaty brow
Fiery, intense longing; pain transferred

Darkness, but all of the sudden brightness
Like life

Does life multiply like rabbits?

Life is a deep cello of possibility
A screech of violins
A low moaning bassoon
A jumpy staccato upon solid wooden bars

Does life multiply like rabbits?

It is the regeneration of cells
Duplicities of genes
Curses managed and purposes revealed
A frisson of possibilities

Does life multiply like rabbits?

It is everyone’s intense loves and dreaded fears
It is tears
Tears of joy, of panic, of sadness
All held within the beating heart

Does life multiply like rabbits?

The first sign is the beating heart
The beating heart; a rhythmic timbre
Like a soft mallet upon a bass drum
Vibrating into its ether

Darkness, but all of the sudden, brightness