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.
Copyright 2019 Molly Fisk
