WEBVTT

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So just four more.

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One of them, I'm pretty
sure that this is the poem

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that the broadside is of.

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I haven't seen the broadside,
and I'm very excited about this.

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I can't tell you what
an experience that

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was to go out and
take all the long

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dried strands of autumn
iris from their core

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and pack them in a bag--

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in a big box for
Tucson, two boxes.

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There are rose petals, day
lilies, iris, watsonia,

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narcissus bulbs.

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I thought it was a
very good thing that I

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was too busy to do a
lot of garden cleaning

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this summer, because
it meant there

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was a lot of dried
long leaves to send.

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And I also can't quite remember
a couple of tiny revisions,

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which revision Karla has.

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But anyhow, this
should be the poem:

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"Three Foxes by the Edge
of the Field at Twilight."

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One ran, nose to the ground,
a rusty shadow neither hunting

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nor playing.

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One stood, sat, lay
down, stood again.

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One never moved except to turn
her head a little as we walked.

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Finally, we drew too
close, and they vanished.

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The woods took them back
as if they had never been.

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I wish I had thought to
put my face to the grass,

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but we kept walking,
speaking as strangers

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do when becoming friends.

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There is more and more I tell
no one, strangers nor loves.

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This slips into the
heart without hurry

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as if it had never been,
and yet among the trees

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something has changed.

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Something looks back from the
trees and knows me for who I am.

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