Lines down. Winter’s turn.
You’ve cut, hauled, split
the wood for our marooned fire
up night after night both of us
keeping the pipes from freezing.
Our one warm room fragrant
with kindling and lichened logs.
I bring in my petite boudoir chair
with curved rockers needing me
and peach velvet tufts some lady
would never guess would end
oh begin at a Searsport sale
and show you how dancey
it helps me be here by the hearth
in my long night’s gown
oh let me fold you in.
I wish for the lights never
to come back on. For darkness
to come in its own good time
and take as long as it needs.
What shine and warmth there is,
up to us. As here, now,
this candle quivering its flirty skirt
oh let me undance your shirt
these drafts just piano shivers
I’ve taught myself to play.
can’t contain the flames
we take turns stoking in its belly.
Last traces of melting ice sizzle
from the cherry and maple,
water boiling over its kettle
oh let’s bathe in this flickering power
configuring on the ceiling
this petaled oil I’ve pressed and saved
for us this wine you’ve found.
Oh stay and listen by this fire with me
burning oh give yourself to your life
let me be your wife ‘til our shadows
die down into morning.
HIBERNACULUM, page 16