The fox appears again in May
to eat ground squirrels,
tail fuller than last year,
fur strong with winter
I’ve watched for it since December
but only spotted its tracks in the snow
Now here it is on the hill
looking down at me
with the eyes of an old man
I must have known as a boy
It lifts its ears unflinchingly
to listen
I tell how I lived my life all wrong,
can’t go back to set things right,
how I wake to a face
I no longer want to see,
all chances gone,
only so many days left
to dream something
I tell the fox
how I disappointed my children,
how I didn’t know
what to do or how to say
what I did know,
how I found excuses
for my fears
I tell the fox
I wanted a different voice,
unimpeachable words
they would want to recall
I shout after its tail as it leaps
over the crest of the meadow,
“Hey you! Yes, you!
Wait up! Listen!
Once, I too was cunning
and my teeth were sharp!”