LOOKING
Just there
in the grass,
in the grass,
a fallen leaf. Rust
against green
baking
in the sun.
in the sun.
But then
the autumn edges
the autumn edges
taunt me
into seeing
something
that is not tree.
The trace of a face.
Something animal.
Something animal.
The minute I see it
the leaf is gone.
All that remains
is the wink
and the ears
at attention.
The fox is now
the one looking.

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