Red Fox (to My Poems)

Vulpes vulpes, with your

little black nose,

your anxious eyes,

darting,

your den, under leaves

once red,

are ochre, burnt umber, and blowing away

in the air

of wet earth and maple smoke exhaled.

My palms,

holding ash

up to my fingertips, cool to the touch,

warm with a flame I cannot fan,

everything dying, like this.

But I’ll find you,

sometime October,

under the chestnut tree

wagging your tail,

Vulpes vulpes,

for me.

© 2016 Jennifer Wagner

It seems I am too busy for poetry right now.  But sometimes, she finds me.