Skulked in the Thin Midnight

Skulked in the Thin Midnight

Under the street lights,
On darkened dirt roads,
In the suspended rise
Of winter’s boasting heart,
Trudged a wild spirit,
Whose ruddy, sleek coat,
Blurred between the posts,
Of a tired, gray fence,
Erected to divide,
A reflection once made,
Those of man and beast.
Yet, the fox spirit moved,
With grace of the old,
Keen, full eyes aware,
Of the creeks that ran,
The prairie that danced,
The mountains that drummed,
And how it was he
Who brought the fire,
Carried the living light,
And heard the whispers,
Of the approaching storm.
The perfume of spring,
Draped as sighs of low clouds,
Into slopes and valleys,
Billowing smoke of time,
Engulfing the stars,
As a hopeless bark,
Seeped into his bones,
Interred in the red
Clay and tender roots,
Pushing under his feet.
Living in weathered rot,
He was left alone,
Flanking the thin midnight,
To skulk among scarred pines,
To cross the aggregate,
To weep with the coyote,
To ponder and then hide.
Under the street’s light,
On a darkened, dirt road,
In a suspended rise,
The red fox trekked beyond.

A cosmic couple
 Image Credit: ESA/Hubble & NASA, Acknowledgement: Judy Schmidt




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