[33] Restless, P.V. Beck

An echo of nascent light, each cell in its place ready to spring.
Tail to chin Fox sinks into the depth of dreams
where feather and fur and seed and wing
sail on circular winds from the tropics to the poles in make-shift stories,
tales with no beginning or end.
Wheezy premonitions tingle Fox’s ear numbed into silence by endless snows and empty nights,
the world balances on the frozen foam of breakers in a sea of quantum waves—
an endless swell, the breathing of the Earth, the heartbeat of a sleeping fox.
But as sure as the Earth makes its return
the waves will break and a turning tide will ripple Fox’s ground,
a stab of sunlight will mark the day and restless creatures will awaken
as soundless as the weasel’s pelt turns brown.