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Heart-Hand

Foxed

Foxed

Shadowed fox kits gnaw on her metal toes,
as she scrambles surf scoter eggs, chants
songs of mountain dawns, snowy dusks;
a koro filled with honey, cherry blossoms
twitches in her titanium-sheathed hands,
eliciting subsonic screams of hunger from
bonin bats hanging from her rock ceiling;
all of the lights in the cave have broken,
except the bulb over the range top hood,
which glows at its lowest setting and melts
the last, slowing photons from the cold air;
she stares at the fired, cracked tortoise shell
she has thrown to the bone-littered floor,
and she shrugs, the future too painful to see;
foresight requires more light and fewer foxes.

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Heart-Hand

February 2014

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