Thursday, July 28, 2011


There is a time early in the morning
when the East turns faint
and color still slumbers
gray lay upon gray
edges of things are unformed.

The tentative songs of birds
coax warmth out of the thin light.
I think of these birds
trying to figure out which call
   belongs to which bird
as if a name would make them more beautiful.

I love these creatures
  but alter their rhythms
feeding them crumbs from supermarkets.
out there on my deck rail
   lay bread broken in an offering
a feeble attempt that they might befriend me.

It is then that I see the fox
   a gray fox
a canine that moves like a cat
she stands there (did I say she?)
more cautious than any bird
   a quick nibble
       a sniff for danger
           nibble again

Oh that these crumbs would go on forever
   but the light brightens
   color creeps in
   brushes against her flank
her edges become distinct
   and she disappears.

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