Hours slip unslept. Grievances amass and there’s nothing but hope to counter
cancer, covid, climate, war. We have mice in the walls. The furnace ticks on,
the well water flushes, the dog shifts in the bed of the dog who is gone, her
final groan so little like death. O for sustaining work, a sustained Earth, a roof
that holds against scouring the wind. Then it is early: three, four, five.
The gray day’s business postpones. So little happens. Breakfast, walk, dinner,
dishes. So softly the snow covers the cove rimmed in pine. O tide continue,
mysterious under the ice. I return to turning in. Check the locks, reset the
thermostat. In darkness, don silence so as not to disturb. The barred owl calls
in stanzas of three and my heart thuds at the window.
