Snow-Chained

Across the night the shimmering molt of the stars, a wane moon sweeping snow over the black drenched cars, and all unwinding into cisterns of darkness. The chill windowpane captures them all, all snow-chained together in one paused freeze-frame of a rivering. Logs crack and chirp as if birthing firebirds. The room chirrs like a camp fiddle in a ghost tale. The cabin rolls, its foundations are structured hollows. Tonight is caught travelling nowhere. In these unanchored times, it is a home lost in long darkened mountains, beyond the reach of any log-raft; trapped by the felled and still falling. Yet this I know, tomorrow will arrive and its light will be as new as God’s first born.