I cluck my tongue.
The vixen stares.

An open window
and fifteen feet between,
man and fox exchange a look.

She’s unafraid
though she runs from cars,
a mystery
only she can solve.

I’ve introduced myself.
We have an understanding.
She returns to the shadow world.
I close the window.


That bumble-bee
is meant for me;
he ricochets
off his delays.

He loads a rose –
right in he goes;
I rest and wait
and guess my fate.

A dream’s a fool
and earth is cruel;
the skylark folds;
the blackbird scolds.

The rose takes aim
to kill or maim –
he buzzes past –
my luck can’t last.