Fox World

The metal garage door groaned
with a familiar monotonous malaise
and I drove the wet, gray
back roads toward work in
an apathetic, uninspired stupor

until—

a near-mythic beast posed
on the foot bridge, waiting for me,
blessing me with a glimpse of its
brushfire coat and tawny oval eyes,
brindled electric tail, too-big ears,

and—

inexplicable peace. More revered than
mutts, more majestic than felines,
this red vixen brimmed with divinity,
the eternal, the other, the truth;
the thunderclap to keep me sleepless,

then—

before the brake engaged, the fox vanished,
bouncing across the gilded meadow,
a weightless pixie, leaving me to reckon
with this strange magic, this celestial good;
eyes wide to the day full before me.

Yes—

a fox remade my day, my being by being.
What tenderness could thrive if everyone
in our town fox marveled daily?
Better yet, what unfathomable good
would flourish in a fox world?