Where He Goes

A fox with smiling eyes at dusk

Follows me with pleasure in his stride;

I try to see beyond the furry husk

And catch a glimmer of the man inside

As he lopes, mouse in mouth, along with me

Hands rendered thumbless by a moony tide.

Yet, when he is a man, and I can see

That wild grace still captured in his eyes,

Somehow the change diminishes the glee:

His smile human, but I recognize

A lust for freedom from all ties and plans.

Although I love him in whichever guise,

I miss the man when he's a fox again.

And I also miss the fox when he's a man.