Impatience

But the fox is no longer

a lie. But the harsh mouth giving way,

no longer from the river I drank. The trough

full of budding giblets. If not an east wind

or a schoolgirl’s ribbon. I can make bread,

if nothing else. Give me the toneless song,

the hard water of a new city. Give me

the light as it falls through

the slats, and I might name it

the pale hour of fire. All the while,

I watched for movement in the yard.

How long until the animals approach?

Until I learn new sources

of water, wading through the green

on my spare afternoons.

Back then, everything I wanted

was prone to movement.

The rising dough, the fox’s bark––

small things rushing to an end.