the fox is
Sly, brush against sky.
Here, my feet touch a season
You, on the line, in binary.
Communication, over distance, a long winter.
Nevermore and yet again.
The ding with your messages. Watch documentaries,
Hibernate, shed a summer, bring a new coat.
This hazy din of streets swept
where everything was falling. Nothing to show
for what comes next.
Burrow. Dig in and keep quiet.
Sound travels a great distance.
Summer found the soft
brown enfolding white.
-the memory of snow, the fox
from “Les Neiges d’antan” December 1, 2016 at Le Cagibi