Gun again. Gun, gun, gun.
Now the hunter shows his back, kneels bright
in sparrow-colored weeds, busy with his blade.
Now carries by hind legs the limp orange fox––
cavity black-red, hairless tail, mangy snout.
––Many foxes around here?
Tall, frames aslant, mustache thin.
––Naw, only thing like it I ever saw.
Dusk collapses into woods, gasping.
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