by Gloria Viglione
Afternoon in August,
bathed in orchid light,
calm before the storm,
death before the night, that
envelops long-held secrets,
feeds dreams with nature’s green—
grass, a single blade, a field—
horned toads who live unseen.
I once witnessed a red fox
jump the jagged river bed,
karma in his favor,
left him just this side of dead.
Mad his pace into the thicket, his
neighborhood, wild and free—
only the sky as cover,
paneled rock-face as walls for he—
quick and wily, the untamed fox,
redder in afternoon light,
sunny—the warbler’s untimely call, that
twitters a hawk into flight.
Unique it is not, this deadly game, nor
visits from the great horned owl,
windows of opportunity—vines weave
xysts, and foxes reach fowl—a
yell at twilight, woe to the prey, no
zoo can contain—Nature holds sway.