The Thought-Fox - Ted Hughes
I imagine this midnight moment's forest: Something else is alive beside the clock's loneliness and this blank page where my fingers move... Cold, delicately as the dark snow, a fox's nose touches twig, leaf; two eyes serve a movement, that now and again now, and now, and now set neat prints into the snow between trees... til with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox it enters the dark hole of the head. The window is starless still; the clock ticks, the page is printed.
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