Fire-engine flash of fox pelt
And a plume of tail
Fluffy . . . like some oil-well ablaze on a Gulf War postcard
And from the body
It was fleeing at a 2 o’clock incline

Almost innocent in the ebb of dawn
Above the vineyards at Booranga
Sauntering erratically
As a red beacon
Across the screen of a life-support monitor

Up and down and away
This alien enigma upon Wiradjuri skin . . .