The fox who darted just out of eyesight yesterday morning while I poured coffee is screaming
mid-night screaming
so I half-wake, check for the cat, glance at the clock, tumble back into our trip to New York
a brilliant spring day, sunshine and pink trees, a street cafe/coffee shop amalgamation of people
it’s pungent loud, crazy and beautiful
You’re up ahead buying a hand-knit mask, balancing your coffee and flowered purse
I’m pacing by the India-print tunics, on the phone with the ex-lover only you know about, flirting in that way we do so no one overhears
and before I can say I Love You goodbye again to you there in the City on that wonderful city day or to him again on the phone
I’m riding in a pick-up careening through the copse where the screaming fox lives, smashing head-on into a great old beech
its fox-copper leaves jingle like bells to wake me for the day