Star Socks Fox on the Line
Sun bright sheets billow, guises of battle standards, sails, and wings—
among them, upon ripples of grass lay a book, open to page sixty-four,
Where the Sidewalk Ends, the name of a place at the end of all things.
Between the snap and bite of white, a fox from Alder Tree’s shore,
strung up, pinned ear to ear, bounced and jounced, high on the line.
And below, she sat, held the book that lay open to page sixty-four.
Phi, irrational exception to rationale, a child who saw the fox shine—
Yes, a humble creature strung up by the ears, an Impossible Thing,
the fox sewn of socks, cobalt and gold, rode the wind on the line.
Concealed amid agreeable grasses, Phi marked her page with a string,
a smile of bliss kissed across her face, a breath of peppermint wind—
now was the time, she heeded it, the voice of an Impossible Thing.
That whisper, heard by the heart, not the head, a truth from within,
a call that made a small wonderer, ponder how to set a sock fox free.
An answer at the edge of a pond sat, a bucket, up-ended in the wind.
All a’clatter, after it Phi bound, a bucket tumbling toward the sea,
eyes on her prize, a bucket, first step on the road to the Alder Door.
Sun bright sheets, guise of the Last Great Ripple Gannet’s Wings—
and Phi perched on a bucket waits, watching an Impossible Thing.
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