that tense moment

Flip it

And count the seconds before the coin falls.

Copper, dull and hovering

Just out of reach of the golden staircase;

The Fox tries to imagine itself far away, into the clouds

But it only summons more weighted honeycomb

And the wasps that follow it won't stop;

Determined desire in their hearts, densely.

The coin spins on an invisible, unknown head

It twirls, pirouettes and spirals;

Hypnotic and relentless,

Yet like the rides at the fake fair, there's more intensity

Than the pressure embedded in any budding diamonds .

As the Earth summons it homeward,

A palm welcoming, pleading, coaxing it close; inviting as it is assertive and overworked,

The coin freezes and glints, despite it's missing shine.

The Fox, encaptured in daydreams,

Doesn't know that the coin holds a message;

Cracking like an easter egg filled with honeycomb,

It recites how there will be a day tomorrow,

Regardless of today's escapism.

That today's triumph

Was the naming of the day

And the survival of the Fox

Even if it was simply because.

To be seen by the forest in a kind, sweet way.

The Fox's shield can finally be lowered

To peek and watch the sunset, briefly.