(This Life) Part 5: Fox binned

Garden out of bounds – builders’ mess

spreading fast this past week -  we turn

left into Katherine’s rutted lane,

dogs scenting, pulling, me breathless

following, past The Rustler’s Gate,

where a blue barrel stands untapped.

Hind legs strong, straining, the dogs reach

up for the rim but, restrained, wait;

inside a fox, death curled frozen,

colours sharp, vivid frosted,

startling beauty not yet dimmed

enduring far past its last breath.

That night its cubs’ long screams wake us,

memory of her milk still warm,

and we anguished lay out dog food,

can offer nothing more, cannot

move into her hollowed space

a substitute; become we cannot.  

Next day we dig, bury her deep,

wrapped in clay dark as the first star,

then a trip to N’Villes stocking up

on peanuts, meat and cheese for her kin.