There is always an animal
in the grass: fox or weasel,
snake; marriage of tongue
to adder, fork to tine.

Keep one eye on the damp
boundary between all realms
though no satin bridesmaid
dress has caught in the branches,

no face floats in the shallows
like a page from a pale narcissus.
The wind erases all trace of encounter:
whatever was taken here or hunted hard.


In response to Via Negativa: Nuthatch .

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