- Books, Literature, and Writing
Somewhere in the swampy woods, the fox
Dens up down some deep hole.
Just after noon, the sun warm on my back,
The wind flapping my trousers
Like flags from my shins
I peel off my jacket and stand against the wind
Watching clouds, white and dark, moving fast
Across patches of blue until they
Cover the sun.
Too cold without the sunshine, I turn into
The wind. Trousers pressed against my knees,
I slip on my jacket against the sudden chill,
The teeth of the season.
Around the corner, as the sun returns,
I stand against the wall attracting
The last warm
Rays of the retreating year
Focusing on a point far away
Where the sky
Part of me wants to dig a hole
And crawl deep down inside.
The sun warms
But the chill blows through