Ann Arbor Review
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Silver Grey Fox
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LAURELHURST PARK, NEW YEAR'S EVE
Jade ice, like fern-laced old glass,
sheathes the pond. Mallards cruise the
open water near children hungry to feed them,
their smooth grace hampered as they
lift like heavy seaplanes: up, down, up.
They slide along the north-shore ice
near brisk walkers, to plead for bread.
Oaks and ginkgoes lean; their reflections make spearpoints.
On them, moss glows and shimmies like spring-green fur--
each meandering crevasse a verdant jungle
as the last sun of this year illuminates the bark.
Children tumble along the banks, throwing crumbs
then pebbles, throwing anything not
rooted, crowing at cracked ice as if
they would not encounter enough shards--
more than enough--before they were stopped
like oaks. Their elders watch the threading,
spreading surface lines and shudder, turn
from the innocent destruction, search for buds
on hoard limbs.
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