Amen I say to you: the fox which lives
in the abandoned building near our cabin
means nothing at all. It bears no portents.
Molecule by molecule it tumbles
through space, much like the rest of us, a dense
cloud, a dense cloud, a dense cloud of
matter whispering itself the quiet
evocations of its own being! Or!
Maybe not.
It is brown. It stares at us silently,
while we sit there in our car watching it.
It is the brown of dead leaves, wet from rain
in late December, of mud, of the wood
of the empty building near our cabin.