Snow Fox

By | 1 February 2020

On last of all rivers, Snow
Fox paws the black
ice crust, spidery thin
webs creaking silver-wet out
from paw pads.

Her ear pressed on cold
ice she auricular measures
thickness, fearing the dark
dense undertow rumble,
the digestive slush of the planet.

Remnants of heavy-boned beast behind
her knuckle the frigid bank.
Curlew, uncompassed, breaks
his beak on nuked-shut mud.
Dingo claw-flints on buckled steel,
gnaws on fallen light-

Snow Fox is the last, one-eyed
rare colonist, alone crossing over
into the last adaptive zone.

Her fur phosphor smoulders.

She sniffs limps

on mistings of species

in ice.

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