Poetry

The Fox

You vanished

like the fox slipping through the hedgerow,

no farewell, just the red blur of your coat

cutting across the field

and into the trees.

I can almost smell

the earth on your breath,

your sharp-eyed glances

darting between shadows.

The sun lifted its shoulders over the hill,

and there you went-

a crimson ember swallowed

by the green thicket.

I track your scent

through my empty house,

brushing against door frames

where your laughter hung,

scraping fingernails

against the old wood,

leaving furrows in the dust.

What did you leave behind,

besides the scent of dew

and upturned soil,

besides the empty howl

echoing through those walls?

I hold the silence

like a dried bone,

its hollow still whispering

of your absence,

its weight no lighter

than it was yesterday.

Even the wind strains

against your memory,

its breath stirring the curtains

like fur in the underbrush.

I wait for night to pull you back

from the edge of the woods,

for the moonlight to cast

your silhouette into my doorway

once more, but all I find

is the empty ground beneath my feet,

and the foxgloves swaying