Poets' Practice Pad

The Red Fox

We strolled in the woods
arm in arm, like an offering
of ourselves, kindling
hope to live within
each other's dreams,
until at the clearing
a rusty reddish fur moved,
then twisted about to lock eyes
with you, and the fox,
after wagging its white tipped tail,
fell motionless, dying
upwards into our lives;
next, a phantom glow flashed
from your eyes as if a dart
aiming at the life we could not plan.
The shock piled like the leaves
under my feet; thickening
my prickly blood and I
marveled at your distress,
letting out a sigh so fractional
you could not hear.
That day after the Red Fox,
you left, rolling with
the tide of your transformation,
a lover hovering over your own image,
to stare into the portent in Red Fox eyes,
still bright as if alive.




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