in dreams i met the fox again
this time i asked him to use words
grabbing sandcastle fistfuls of his fur
until the tide swept in
and i howled.
i asked him for the essence
secret ingredient
that made him a fox
as if it could be answered
= fur. paws. snout.
so we built a den of bricks
and i seal it over and over in vines
-just hold this together-
in thin flora we both know he could tear down
(if he wanted to)
the fox and his mystery mortar.
one day, the fox opened his mouth and said:
"wait".
do i ask for his appraisal
or do i riddle me for mine?
tearing down the wall to qualify
my own little bits of stone
twist my silver hair
because maybe i'm not half as scared of knowing the fox
as i am of knowing
the wolf.