In The Mythology Of Birds...Foxes...

The little bird somehow escapes the cat but can't escape the Death that beats under its feathers bloodied in my hands that hold it I cradle it & cry the bird imaging that when you die a Great God comes takes you gently in its hands & bathes you in its tears a sunset staining a sky that is fading fading. ******* IN THE MYTHOLOGY OF FOXES The foxes blood on the stone still there two days after staring at me. Only the day before a daring raider of my uncle's henhouse the talk of our household. But my uncle was patient & stalked the lonely hourds until the fox came to meet her death thinking only of her cubs & how big & bright the moon loomed tonight and how the fearful thunder of the gun had ended everything and how now shot through the head her carcass thrown behind a hedge she finds herself still staring bak into the mind of the little boy even more aware of her presence now that nothing exists and how for ever after the boy carries her death cradling it in his mind trying to comfort her with his human tears.