In the bus, people spoke about Covid-19.
Like swarms of sardines swirling round
And round the black-blue shadow
Of the sea to reach the light, I imagined
Distant queues self-distancing in shopping
Malls before gaining the daylight outside.
In the bus, adolescents talked about
Masquerades, giggled, and laughed.
Then, unexpectedly, we heard the screeching
Brakes as the bus halted in the middle
Of a natural reserve. Through the large
Windows we saw a majestic red fox
With a fur of amber gold crossing the strait
Road in the wan winter light, its torso
And long bushy tail all tainted in off white;
Its pointed ears and taut snout were alert.
Animals that keep a sylvan vigil in the forest
Move, hide, and hunt, sometimes uncloak
Themselves warily. Separated by a verge
From the bland gray asphalt road it traversed,
The guileful and shrewd eyes of the fox shone
Like children’s agate marbles vying to target
Other marbles. Amazed at its beauty
I scrutinized the fox’s heedful steps
As it entered the dark green fir forest
Heaved before us as an alpine totem.
Dr. Emily Bilman is a widely published poet who teaches poetry in her Stanza group in Geneva. Her three poetry books, A Woman By A Well (2015), Resilience (2015), and The Threshold of Broken Waters (2018) were published by Troubador, UK and Modern Ekphrasis by Peter Lang in 2013. Her thesis is entitled The Psychodynamics of Poetry.
She blogs on http://www.emiliebilman.wix.com/emily-bilman
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