Foxes by Christopher Woods

Running with them
For a time I once divided
Into weeks
Is like a river that never dries
But goes and goes, coasting
Over shells and sand beds,
The souls of mountains
Breaking up, migrating.

Being among them
Nights in frostbound fields
Beneath a ghost moon haze,
I need to believe
They too are counting stars
And all the time between them.


Christopher Woods, Texas, USA