Silently, shadowed by night, Its eyes shining like tears, It pads through the desolated undergrowth Listening for sounds in the grass The tripping of feet, the scampering Crunch of paws. Lithely stepping Through the trees, a mile further on The fox sniffs the air. The stubbled moon Flings down its steel-like shafts Of thin even light, stabbing through The gloom.
The stream flows around the dying plants Breaking the bank. The River Vole slides down Into the labouring water, older than the Landscape it bites through, and it pounces Grabbing the voles neck in its maw, Ripping the flesh apart. The cat throws It into the air, catching it again, Its teeth rending off flesh. It pads back into the dark.
Nose delving into the air , the fox sniffs blood. It turns towards the water Breaking the bank, turns towards Its slow sibilant sound, muzzle aloft As if drawn upward by slithers of string, The playful moon moving smoothly with the clouds. The cat is shaken by its presence. The grouse gabble in their fear.
The fox pounces, caught in the air Floating as if in a snapshot Held there by silvery light, It lands with untroubled finesse As the cat screams. The stream blanches, the moon seems smug, The night closes as the fox eats.