Sunday Poem


The light that limped in lantern circles down the road
Lit the grass heaved ditches and the cobbled stars of stone,
And came upon it, bleeding in the stream's cold sleep;
Fox, red into fawn, sharp as a coin and ruined now.
While blind signals pilfered its garbling wit-
Spasm to spasm I watched, then touched its wetsmooth fur,
As it snapjawed at the air, splashed for a furious time,
Alive again in a newer fear, then blinked back to the old.
I, thinking that misery ended it, tilted my gun
And ended its misery. The lantern flicked through the leaves;
Green, back through the woods the light fumbled a path,
The stars hardened, and a fresh breeze screamed in the trees.

by John Bruce