Poetry–a white fox sneaking:
playful, and when she sees you see her,
she darts–
runs back into hiding in the thickets,
disappears, hardly a trace

but she was stunning
and her dew black eyes saw mine

she was gentle, adoring–

the encounter breaks, ruptures:
lament, mourning

how awful to know the face of poetry
and yet
not get to be near–such longing,
such longing is her source