the sleeping fox
when the horizon
is too filled with disaster
I train my internal eye
on the image of a sleeping fox
we watched him climb
the hill behind our house
on a day when
most of our world had melted
there in the warm
russet-brown of the pine duff
he circled then curled,
a fiery fluff of warm fur
lit by early spring sunshine
he knew nothing of our worries
and simply slept sound
and I watched in thanks
for the proof of a being
who could still dream
simple safe dreams
limbs loose, mind at ease
