The Thought-Fox

**The Thought-Fox** I imagine this midnight moment's forest: Something else is alive Beside the clock's loneliness And this blank page where my fingers move. Through the window I can see nothing at all, Or the very faint star From the unending sky. The night itself Is resting on the roof. Like a wet snow On a black tree. Suddenly A flash of red. A wet, cold snout Touches the page. And then a line of running black marks. The page is stained. From my hand, like a black snake, I press the pen down into the page. Now it drips a little. I hear it scrape the page. It comes closer. I hear the breathing. I hear the sharp scuffle Of paws on leaves. And then a pause. Then the nose. And then the eyes. And then the sharp White teeth. And then the dark Eyes. And then, seeing How I stare, It stiffens, And goes away. But in my head, I have kept the watch. I have turned the page. I have kept the only way I know to survive. And the fox Is there. It is there.