A Fox in the City

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.



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