It is before he goes to village Africa.
The night shines like bright particles of fine ash.
Darkness ghosts, so luminous beneath the trees.
A gasp of shape from the radiance becomes a fox,
Ballet-dancing skittishly as he chases stout white moths.
Mark sits down on the dew-glazed warm-breezed grass,
Offers a sweet to the fox who takes it, graciously.
The night vibrates like the sway of mud in a holed boat.
The moon dances on its burden boards, the clouds shiver
In the water. Mark and the fox in Boden Park
Find hosannaed space, a tree-planked suburban ark.
The fox's ease during their moon-blessed meeting,
Like the stick-stand of a heron or the tail twist of a trout,
Freeze-frames for eternity a sacred joyful moment.
Freeze-frames for eternity a sacred joyful moment.
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