A city morning turns briefly magical. The speaker spots what looks like a black rabbit foraging in downtown Seattle and grins, half-believing it knows a shortcut to Wonderland. Then the spell breaks: the "ears" are really a crow's tail feathers splitting as she pokes at the strip of grass by the sidewalk. The rabbit becomes a bird, and the speaker admits, "I am not Alice," a wry acknowledgment that real life doesn't hand out portals.
Still, the speaker holds on to the wonder. The next night, a real feral rabbit hops silently through a parking lot, but the speaker doesn't follow it. By the end, the crow gets the credit for the magic, the one who "called hocus-pocus." The mood is playful and light, with a gentle humility. The poem suggests that the ordinary world can still surprise us, if we're paying attention for even a blink.