Human for an Hour

The fox takes a face from the lower branch.
It fits above his teeth.
At the market he remembers how to stand
and asks for something fine enough
to pull a thorn.

The stallholder shows him tweezers.
Then a glass bird catches the light.
The face wants it.
The fox can feel the wanting
move his hand towards his purse.

He buys both. Outside the town
he drops to his knees and runs
as far as knees will let him.
The cub is waiting in the roots,
one paw held clear of the ground.

He pulls the thorn.
Blood beads at the point,
bright through the thin white fur.
The cub will not come near his mouth.

He hangs the face back on its branch.
His jaw opens wide enough
to take the cub by the scruff.
The tweezers lie beside the roots.

The glass bird lies
inside the purse.
The fox wakes twice
to touch it with his nose.