Fox 6 7 and 8

Too long
the grass to see
who waits in patient hush,
who watches amber-eyed
my back and forth,
breathless.

Why waits
the fox, when wild
is all about, the dark
so full of grass-whisper,
vole pattering,
hot blood?

Have I
become a part
of someone else’s life,
a piece of their pattern?
The thought thrills—trust
walks here.