Between hedgerows your mind’s
fox slows its feet, stills the thistled
fleece it tows behind.
Fleece or flag unwound —
a warning draped to fall
between hedgerows: mind
the quarry assigned
a human role, the charcoal
towed behind
a discharged rifle. Its sudden
bolt incises a mantle
between hedgerows, your mind
composed, a clearing blind
to the rabble
of passersby towed behind
in shadow. They linger downwind
as you steal
between hedgerows, your mind
a fleece you tow behind.
