Late summer. Just outside Oxford.
The train came to a halt, panting
in the heat. A brassy silence.
Beyond the window, empty sidings,
abandoned freight trucks, rails corroded,
overgrown; and in between the points
a stand of silver birch had spread their shade.
a slanting of the light-
a shadow twitches and
there, ten yards away
Reynard in his red coat.
Unlikely as a unicorn stepped down
from some old coat of arms-
a creature forged from rust and sunlight-
sipping the diesel air, the tang of steel.
A breath of wind ruffles his thick pelt-
ink black eyes in the pale mask
stare unrelenting.A dark flame
starless nights, the iron taste of blood…
The engine clears its throat.
Startled, he turns,
steps like a dancer over rails and rubbish,
fades into that green shadow underneath the trees.
Well ? What do you think ? If you haven’t read the first fox poem, you can find it here:
Comments always welcome.