God Classifies the Fox
November 23, 2011
These legs will carry you across plate, across ocean.
Let the floating seeds, freed of their husks, guide your eyes.
You could turn to look back, though you should not.
There will be staunch grass and beaten stones ahead
—all asking to be touched.
Carry the small ones on your back. Brace your lungs
against the biting frost, the invasive damp.
Do it gladly—this is my gift to you.
Do not rue your taste for blood and marrow—your own
will one day ripen the clover and moss that feed them.
You will find the moon a fickle friend—sharing your path
but deaf to your moans of hunger; your pleas for comfort.
In your skulk you will learn to pounce and gather.
Burrow your den between roots; betray
the heart of the tree.
Species: Vulpes vulpe
The dart of your auburn brush is benediction to a weary eye.
Had they throats, headlights would gasp.