Foxwalk

This hippie homesteader
I saw on a DVD
keeps some woods
on the edge of his farm
partly for hunting and foraging
but mostly—mostly he steps
out toes first, foxlike,
to his sitting spot
where he cups his hands around his ears
and waits for the wilderness
to relax into wildness,
aware of him still, but consenting
to his empty-handed curiosity.

Every morning he sits,
eight years and counting,
still a visitor
but he doesn't have to wait
so long anymore
to witness a deer simply being
a deer—nothing to do with him
or his watching.

It makes me wonder,
how does this guy
approach his beloved
in the evening? Foxwalking
into the bedroom,
hoping for another chance
to witness her wildness?
How long does he wait
night after night
eight years and counting
to quiet her wariness
and encounter the animal—
naked, hungry, heaving, existing
wild and free of his design?
They didn't show that on the DVD.

How does he enter a church?
I see him in the back corner,
sitting spot, eight years,
he watches it all
like the night sky, hoping
if he sits long enough he'll see
something—but not expecting
much today, or ever.

How does he step, approaching
his own animal—
sweat of fear,
shallow breaths of rage,
blood-rush of desire?
Has this cautious farmer,
this measuring, deliberate man
deliberately left alone
a measure of wildness
where he sits and watches
and walks like a fox?