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.
Copyright © Leslie Philibert | Year Posted 2014
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