Molly Fisk: The Fox Laughs at the Hounds

and at the idea of hounds, a panting mass,

a school of dumb fish, safety in numbers,

their ears flapping like leathery leaves

just before the storm breaks, their high

.

voices chorusing woods and fields, ringing

off the stone walls she runs beside, light

and fleet, silent as new snow falling through 

the early dark, the brush of her tail a shadow

.

they won’t see, their cacophony echoing,

they of the loose jowls and flying saliva,

the bumping into each other that slows

everyone down, she slips briefly into a brook

.

to mask her scent and then up the farther bank. 

If you want to go fast, go alone, and laughing.

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Copyright 2019 Molly Fisk