Half Full
Halfway up my back half-acre, I see a fox,
Beautifully camouflaged in the forest,
Winding through trunks in morning fog.
I lose it for half a second in hatcheted logs,
The summer storms’ wooden harvest,
The scattered, winded stocks
Half-upright for the firebox.
The smoky trees are at their poorest.
At their foot invisible frogs
Send half-notes to half-there dog-
Woods. The fox is at his farthest.
He leaves the world as white as chalk.
December 12th, 2010 at 1:02PM
“Cette leçon vaut bien un fromage.”