Quilts

After seas forgot to swim, bees forgot to buzz,
boring days came after this, each day
creating the same landscape, a fox,
depressed, hunting near an old willow,
exploring unknown cities, providing improv
for any and all passersby, like a bureau
greeting attention with open drawers, an orbit
holding strangers with yellow journalism magazines,
iambic pentameter influencing the reader,
joyful stressed and unstressed syllables, Iraq
killing population and currency, the fox’s lip
lays all this out on a pile of leaves, a worn tuxedo
makes your eyes look past his lust for a human,
now, see the curved tooth, biting his lip, the sum
of his looks detracts you, this is his magical

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