After Lawrence

1. 
Since the war started, the fox was a demon.  Rippling the dark
grass  like a red braid, he wove his way like a barnyard tarantella.
 
By the end of August, the light had changed, the wood-edge
bled a brownish vein, the girl tasted copper.  
 
The fox, undaunted, stared the girl down.  Spellbound,
she lost her confidence to jam the wooden stock against
 
her shoulder and kill him.  She knew he knew her.  He tasted
the chicken-flesh behind her knees, his razor-ribbon fangs
 
could peel her lips like an egg, given the chance.
She wanted that chance.  In death, she wanted the chance
 
to be his entirely, to be honored as the one who gave
him life.  The red sun was setting. The long war flicked its tail.
 
 
2.  
What Makes The Fox Chase His Own Tail?
 
The fox is a thief who circles a woman’s shoulders.
His amber eyes covet the luster of pearls. In silence,
he resides red on white luster. He is
 
a mermaid’s red hair in the rain,
part myth, and he swaggers brown in the sun.
He slides smooth into a camisole of seaweed.
 
He is a caboose that steals eggs after midnight. 
He tries to speak the words of lonely boxcars. 
He hears morning when the train whistle startles.
 
He is a sly poem that borrows a thought. He creeps
towards a poet’s dream.
He smells his own musky hole and savors it.
 
The fox is an hour spent with a muddy paw. He is
the blood before a broken vow. He skulks 
fields and is hardy in the landscape of strangers. 
 
He is the first time the sun rises and parts.  
He is a sin to all creatures that go about their business.
He tears the night with his keening. He is nobody’s
 
business but his own.  His pelt sheds elegance
to mask his smudged conscience. He cannot go
through the night undefined.     
 
3.
The Fox Requiem
 
The girl went outside where suddenly she knew the fox
was singing.  A singing roamed the woods, in the fields 
 
and in the darkness.  The fox grew from the earth, red
as a candle flame.  When she touched him, he bit her
 
wrist.  The fox whisked his brush across her face. 
It seared the girl’s mouth and she was stricken.
 
He continued to sing.  She lay trembling, a burnt 
out wick, silenced by the fox.  
 
 
4.
The Dream Fox
 
In the year 1918, there was not much food to buy.  
The youth stole the dark eyes of the fox.  The youth
had fallen from the dark eyes of the fox.  When 
 
he lifted his clouded blue-eyes, she remembered
the rabbit and wild duck flying high towards the wood,
that he had shot.  Again, there was silence.
 
A cunning little flame came across the youth’s face.
A gleam of red fed the fine hairs on his cheeks.
She put away the thought of him.  He walked
 
towards the wood’s edge with his gun.  The youth
had stolen the dark eyes of the fox.  He was
the Master of the girl.  He would catch her as you catch
 
a deer or wood cock when you go out to shoot. 
It became like a fate. The girl had fallen from 
the dark eyes of the deer.

For Ariel and Sally Byro-cats, missing May 2022