Winter Foxes

You wipe the crows from my eyes
like an ancient Nordic tale, trying
to stay afloat in molten iron.
Our names frame the sea, wings
beating away the water below.

These are the dreams I pretend we have,
not the ones where I’m walking down our street
at night, something crying in the woods
& I’m scared & you’re nowhere.



Wind rises like a barn on fire,
heaven lost somewhere in the pines
sycamores calling out the names of childhood friends.
A wishbone you wanted to snap with your brother
but it’s oily,
& you slip,
& he’s leaving,
& you try,
to convince yourself it’s a dream but it’s not
so you make it one.


Scott Sherman is a student at Warren County Community College where for the past three years he has assisted in the editing of the college literary magazine, Ars Poetica. His work has appeared in East Fork and Painted Cave.


Image by Ólafur Brynjúlfsson[2] – NKS 1867 4to, 94r. Digitized version available from Image processing (crop, rotate, color-levels) by Skadinaujo (talk · contribs), Public Domain,