Call From a Winter's Night Up North

I curl up In the cradle of our cabin This Friday night in January The deck out back Glows Bright as its own light With new snow From my evening muted TV Cliff an abyss two feet beyond Lake A coffin draped in black flag There is one chain of orange lights On the other shore A cruise ship Charon Slowly pulling away with its gold In a shadow sideswipe of squalls With all the snowbird survivors Waving goodbye Bon Voyage Wind A mad wizard of arms flailing Barges down miles of forest Pounds on my door For the last of the living If there was anyone to speak to I’d have to shout above its roar At four A.M. I wake To an aphonic choir of hooded dark heads Nodding outside my bedroom window Nibbling at the needles of the under bush The deer assume no one is here To look back Maybe they’re right I get up Coat boots scarf hat Plow the deep snow With my steel-tipped toes Down the middle of Torch Lake Road To the extinguished blue house on the curve And back Look for the cheese of last summer’s moon Or sugar cubes of Scorpius’ stars In the scavengered fields Find my pockets Filled with the Devil’s cold coins of debate Feel my way down to the lake Stand where a dock used to be Kettle boils and shushes with slush Sides of broken ice Clop Like rotten heels kicking The waves and rocks God pauses His knocks On the wood of my hollow heart Waits for an answer.