the red fox

the red fox circles the tree at an unimaginable pace. he is a proud dog; he knows his place in the natural order. there was once a time we made red foxes out of leaves and you cried whilst listening to that song. we left trails for the trolls but they would not follow us home. they feared our bond; innocence spilled out of hidden pockets in crimson crinkled lines. they couldn't read the maps in the skies in the half light.