Throughout the year of obtaining
The innards of plumbing for the house,
The little shack was loved and appreciated.
Yes, we are well out into the sticks.
And tonight as the distant world
Pulls up its blanket and smacks its pillow,
I walk to the bathroom and consider
The porcelain magician with its disappearing magic
And swirling spectacle.
I stand in the doorway of porcelain convenience
And remember the moony-tooth window
Of the biffy. I remember the stars
And wonder, What have we done
That anyone should feel alone
Beneath a night sky?
Slipping on my boots to meet
The crunch of December night
I head for the little shack.
The air ripples with coyote songs,
And the snap of frost-wedged elm.
With the bite of life on my ears,
The door ajar, I ask the stars,
“What have we done,
That anyone should feel alone?”
How? …with all you cousins winking
And giving the nod for mischief.
How? …with all of you right here.