Late at night he comes,
down the street of the wild horse,
sleek and handsome fox,
slinking past parked cars and rubbish bins,
on his way to catch the train at Central Station,
or does he have an assignation in Prince Alfred Park?
And was this once an open space that he remembers,
imprinted in his DNA,
where foxes and wild horses strayed
and gathered after dark?
‘In Brumby Street’
