Copper moon with hammered red ring,
halo of omens. Bird crest bloody

as a harpoon. Pinch back
the burgundy skin of hair-

covered fruit; then bite.
Tonight, news of rabid foxes

lurking at driveways’ ends.
High-pitched cackle from

the slaughtered hen.
How many stars by which

to reckon when the first
nor’easter blows in?

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.