Saturday, April 7, 2018

Foxes

Fox curled
pointed nose on warm red fur
scent of the sun and the earth
a dry den dug into the hillside
But spring is here.
Wake up, foxes!
Run and jump upon my memory.

Wake me up, foxes.

And under a painted sky
blinking first stars
I will find all that I lost
in a wet meadow somewhere north
under the sky of purity.
The taste of the Real
still on my tongue.

Awake.



~Becky Robbins

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