Secondary silence (The poem version of the Hunter's dream)

In this poem, you are only human indoors
Thick dark-green wool clothes, felt, really
Moist and warm, shoed and standing
The breath, the smell, the sound, the taste,
the sense of you,
all human.
But I am not an indoor beast and although
meant thoroughly, kissing is not what I live for.
Outside, you are a fox
Dark gray, large and quiet, following me through the snow.
It is a high but weightless snow,
Waist-high and I am pushing through it
like it was feathers.
It is night and dead still, all of it,
No stars in the overcast sky, no light
Natural or human anywhere.
The hills, covered in silver
Spruces and ancient oaks, all pitch black silhouettes
Naught but the sound of my footwork
Grinding the snow like a metal
And you, traveling with me
We can only be hunters
For we are calm and want to be here
We want to walk these hills and woods for ages
Our existence in this moment is absolute.