She forgives the prodigal fox. She lives her life fearless. Her friends are all rabbits
hunkered in the weeds and under hanging rose canes drooping from the last storm. She is
the fox, nosing among the phlox and tomatoes, plucking bittersweet strings. She reads the
weather report on the sunflower leaves. It will continue dry now with pollen floating on
morning fog. It makes her sneeze and her eyes drippy. She smells the jaws. She smells the
meat on the rusted spring. She pees on the metal spike twisted into the loam. She drops a
stick and snap. She steals the meal and head high delivers it home. Home is a fissure in the
limestone.