Fox
ready to bite
a rug with a
wide grin of silver teeth
and a back with a thousand turns
face full of hair and eyes
like a hanging Jesus
reading the forest`s floor
with its tiny handwriting, a scrivener
in a girl´s secret diary; tired
as a folded-leather bat then
snappy with a trapper`s sleight,
tearing like dough
under a rain of feathers
the inside of a hen,
praying and eating to love;
then after the kill;
a leash under green shadows
in the half glass of dawn,
the black fence of pine,
the shocked hole of silence.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
