The Thought-Fox

I I imagine this midnight moment’s forest: Something else is alive Beside the clock’s loneliness, And this blank page where my fingers move. Through the window I see no star: Something more near Though deeper within the shadow.

II I’m not sure how it happens— The fox is always unfaithful, A breeze into which nothing is thrown, Coy as the twilight stares, Startled by the spark that bites the wet earth. As the fox disappears into the night, There leaves only the nervous pulse— A gaze rooted from shadows away— That evening lingers at the head of my pen. In the cold of black wind, The urgency of creation conspires And spills inward.

III Accursed that this word falls lineal, So steadfast the pause of my breath; Unraveled the fox, a non-entity, Whispers life dawnfully-‘— To catch its flourish, breathing mirrors. The errant hour is swallowed whole.

• Ted Hughes