I looked out of the kitchen door,
And saw a fox sat on the garden table.
I had seen this fox before, clambering up a wall,
escaping any clear sight.
Hughes didn’t describe his, but this fox was large, asleep, material.
Curled up into a ball, like an orange moon.
Soon I made out its long, extending nose which led to a pair of closed eyes
and two, attentive ears
pointing to the sky.
I had things to do, so attempted to leave my spot
but instead stopped.
We both thought about our next meal and a place to cushion our heads
in between the rocks.
We breathed together.
I, a human, she, a fox.
Fumbling for my keys, her ears were alert.
She stared up to the door, fierce, visceral, animal
eyes met mine. Observing each other,
I felt that space between two beings
who both know they are there.
Now, I think, when the foxes time had come,
about her eyes meeting mine and how
they had slowed down the time.