dash

Fox
 
The fox, alive
but for the blood
airbrushed along its jaw,
the lapsed tongue
between the teeth
 
fur perfect,
the body stuffed
by last night’s frost
and unreclaimed
 
the buried eye-light
the only thing
too cold

Gregory Leadbetter


If you have any comments on this poem, Gregory Leadbetter would be pleased to hear them.

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