IN THE MYTHOLOGY OF FOXES

The foxes blood
on the stone

still there two days
after

staring at me.

Only the day before
a daring raider

of my uncle's henhouse
the talk of our household.

But my uncle was patient
& stalked the lonely hours

until the fox
came to meet her death

thinking only of her cubs
& how big & bright

the moon loomed
tonight

and how the fearful thunder
of the gun

had ended
everything

and how now
shot through the head

her carcass thrown
behind a hedge

she finds herself
still staring bak

into the mind
of the little boy

even more aware
of her presence

now that nothing
exists

and how for
ever after

the boy
carries her death
cradling it
in his mind

trying to comfort
her

with his human
tears.