The world moved with him
as he moved.
Like stones on flat surfaces
rabbits skittered
wordless in the mist.

His world ten
yards wide, and he the moving
center. Like dying, he thought,
or Hamlet's nutshell.

His shoes were sopped,
their laces stopped a beat—
he walked till all thought stopped,
appalled by quiet, disturbed
by muffled hounds

accustomed to the strain
of being one world.