A poem in response to a telling by Martin Shaw, of The Fox Woman. I loved the story back in April, but I’m only now hoping to study it in more depth. After one year present at the School of Myth the real work begins!

 

Fox She

 

In the deep forest

Lonely,

Tall trees behold Truth

Holy.

 

 

In the edge-cabin quiet

Disconnection,

His one-eye sings stinging

Rejection.

 

 

In the blind escape, danger-

Doubles,

In chaos unknown, the grief-time

Troubles.

 

 

In the black tent giant

Tears,

On the bed, despair eats into

Years.

 

 

In the night strange, ‘be raven’

Lifts,

In the shadow eaves, only fox-pelt

Fits.

 

 

In the animal flight new

Cunning,

In sure fleet-foot instinct

Running.

 

In the home-lake, a thirst’s

Reflection,

In the Father’s trap, another life

Beckons.

 

 

In that village, torches all

Afire,

In the belly-hungry, death’s

Desire.

 

 

In the home-run, door’s slightest

Shift,

In the nose-blow bloodlines four times

Split.

 

 

In the loosening, release flies so

Far,

In the breathing, above a hundred thousand

Stars.

 

(c) SarahActon 23rd December 2016