Fox suspended in a drift of eras, ears pricked to the finest hum—
drops of dew, snail traces, leaves falling on forest floors.
Old skies reach down and spiderwebs gather up lost stories,
by day grasses bend on a sloping hillside
at night stars breed stars.
The fragrance of pollens and the harmonies of bees
couple in a winsome evolutionary dance,
a spider tangles a moth in midair
and all things crawl to their death in a string game, a winding tale.
Consorting with this chaos Fox wanders through her space in time
while at the threshold of melodies a song is born
and takes flight in a scheme of rhymes.