06
Nov
of fox on his shelf
milk: nobody used it so it went off,
engrossed, i am circling the scene.
and i never did learn to separate my brassicas
from my garden wild,
i never did learn how to see:
there’s a toy fox on my makeshift mantel piece,
he is thinking about lion
in some war of which
he knows cold guilt
and
cold tea,
saddened lost. when his moon
is golden i will find you there