The Sometimes Fox
There is magic in infrequency,
I thought as a fox walked
by the studio window this morning.
I sometimes see this fox
in the parking lot
of the radio station,
moving from one
set of bushes to another
in the pre-dawn dark,
disappearing
almost before
I register that it’s there.
Today, though,
the sun was up,
shining on its fur
as it emerged from the trees
only to slide,
seconds later,
behind the fence
around the satellite dish,
vanishing into the ether.
/ / /
16 April 2026
Charlottesville VA
Day 16 of National Poetry Month
Comments