Fox Wood

I imagine this midnight moment’s forest: 
Something else is alive
Beside the clock’s loneliness
And this blank page where my fingers move.

Through the window I see no star: 
Something more near
Though deeper within darkness
Is entering the loneliness:

Cold, delicately as the dark snow, 
A fox’s nose touches twig, leaf; 
Two eyes serve a movement, that now
And again now, and now, and now


Ted Hughes