autumn now cut
and curled away
slips asleep

the fields are afloat
in great white sheets

the trees filled
with drifts and blooms  
in the falling light

a fox
that ancient coil of flame
appears beside the dark river
contemplating codes
hidden in the snow
and the cold

what is it in life
that calls your favor?

why
after every storm

do we immediately
seek stars?

It knocked
softly
a breath at the door
but I
bolted the windows
and swallowed the key.

It came wearing warmth,
but I mistook it
for fire,
for teeth,
for grief with a new face.

So I fled,
faster than joy
could reach out its hand
afraid it might feel
like home.

Crystal gusts whistle—
fox paws print icy gravel
by evergreen pines

to lie on the warm sand at twilight
ripples of fleeting light
across a calm sea.