the Fox has sad, sad eyes.
slinks to the cliff and stares at the water and sighs.
silence, jagged as shore’s edge’s rocks.
and only blue moons speak the language of Fox
and old, old owls.
the Fox won’t talk to another. he howls.
the Fox will (say) never say never.
the Fox will say maybe.
he’s cautious and clever
and patient and careful and cunning.
maybe he’s laughing but you’ll never get it;
the Fox so despises the silence
he plunges to meet his defeat
on the water below the blue moon