77
Fox Trot
Autumn trees and fallen leaves
glow gently,
warm hues bouncing
in the dusty light.
Birch tree leaves begin to float up
from the asphalt black
with the darkening day.
A physical change,
the sun drops and shapes
transform into their quieter realities,
between the gimmicks of
sunlit indigo shadows
and the slipping inhibition of night.
Into this gathering dusk
the fox trots,
as we dance the medieval dance,
autumnal dreams
shift with stretching shadows,
into winter’s reality.
Arctic fox, trading black fur for white,
listens to our foot falls
beneath drifted snow,
then the leaping high arc pounce.