Red Fox describes the reclamation and recovery of the non-ordinary soul. Like the Selkie or Swan Maiden–women stolen out of their element, pelt or feathers hijacked and held captive by rationale–when one loses contact with one's animal body, the essential self is forgotten.

Be a lens. Be a white-feathered bird. Be a Red Fox. Every evening as dusk crawls in, she darts across the path. Follow her until she fades beneath curtains of falling dark and the skirts of trees. Follow her call like a path. Follow her down into the loam. Let her wake you from your drugged sleep. Let her thaw the miasma. Make a gift. Ask.

red fox

i am a red fox
horizontal under wet leaves
i am a red fox
white feathers in my teeth

it was her time
it was her time
waiting …
looking up at the sky

i come from beneath
i come from beneath
to take her home

she forgot
she forgot
silver fingers
and a corset 

i bring the mud
and the blood
from her throat
was an easy way to go

she remembered then
she remembered then
she remembered then
how far she flew

where those white feathers now?

here’s a red coat
here’s a red coat
here’s a red coat

I am–
I am–

where those white feathers now?