Baltic Fox

written in a hail
of match and spark
the skies here shine
with ultraviolet intrusion

quick you run slow you run
from dens of impermanence
fox red dreams
evergreen needle nests

how lively your rush of bronze resolve
your triangular face slicing shadows

a quiescent polar wind
blows its flash geometric
in folds with creases
light strobe
                            bow shock
across parchment night
while you hunt
in the demigodly spray

there is a clap and curtsey as you run
across the clearings of hungry ghosts

this theatre you own
this landscape
unfolding in pitch angles
with plasmoids

holds you in its dome
floodlit sharp-eyed pert
your ears pricked to a shot
of whistling lead