Jason or Fox Shadows or Both

Like fox-shadows in the
Playing darkness. It must
Not be
One
Thing
He among the rushes and
The abandoned wheat
As if Camus was
Writing a pastoral scene.
I prefer
Emerson, actually, or Thoreau, his
Sharp nose and the
Tilting softness between
His eyes not
Emerson(!). once by
The Ocean in maritime forests of
Stunted salt-worn trees faded
By unbelonging---
He has
Brown eyes and quick---
Quickly, that is, quicker
Furrowing-thin brows
And once his blunt neck
Ran to equally
Blunt shoulders now
He bides, the delicate
Space between his
Eyes,
Above the bridge of his
Nose where a day's
Worry and Triumphs crease
My own sort of
Telepathy
Ah!
In the dying light
Of mixed prescriptions
The jungles of Vietnam or
Wherever his Father
Forged that Look,
Darting:
Fox-like he smiles and
Fox-like he sentences the
Just or unjust Crusades
Launched in a faded world, his fox eyes
And ducking fox grin.