Night falls on stark trees, as low dark
bark hugs in drifting snow,  insulating.

Two eyes sweep in broad wings,
alight,  giving moon glowing sight
surveying the thin winter woods.

The owl sounds an old query:
Am I alone? The moon is silent.

A coyote hollers at the indifferent moon;
crying owl hears and puffs,  closes eyes, settles night tall secure a friend a limb.

I take leave of our new feral companions,
navigate on the fire a seasoned oak,
basking in the warm hammered flames.

Returning to you
shrined beneath the silk covet,
the ceiling rise and open,
unveiling stars as a pod of porpoises
pierce a flat black soft breathing sea.

Your twilight body,  my body’s eve as well,
full and exposed — burn in winter sleep.

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