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When we arrive
the horseshoe creek that bends
around our cabin in the woods
is laced with ice, closing in
on the dark water pulsing
through the center of the bed.
We sleep beneath a sky of stars.
When we wake a fine snow
is sifting from the metal sky.
Gray slate courtyard,
brown bark,
the roof of the red cabin
and all the greens that dare
to stay alive in winter – white.
The flower beds you worked
so hard to grow and covered
in fall with stubbly hay,
smoothed beneath a sheet of snow.
Beyond the garden the trees
reveal their elegant scaffold.
Within this still, small world
we have weathered another year
with love and luck and will.
from Make Your Way Across This Bridge: New & Selected
Writings (2003)
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