You rely on light to steal his show,
as if the pouring in will force out
the richest secrets, the essence
of night life just outside town’s limits,
where paddocks open out black
with crop, infiltrated by rodents,
dog fox on their tails casting windrows
before machinery latches on tomorrow,
when moisture levels and temperature
are acceptable to pull the shining
wheat in, and dog fox is ensconced
in his den with vixen and kits,
eyes emptying the light you’ve
offered, bartered for souls,
left devoid of images.