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.