The Fox
The fox is much cherished, Yet ceaselessly at work
Amidst the blooms and shadows, Affecting the lost woods’ sanctum;
Unravels the quiet
In which he parlies, bounded where The fragile landscape strews
Tastes all its meanings intended.
On those white heights; trembling Against the static curtain of
His body, and where he waits In persistent lucidity.
- Marianne Moore