November 25

Cold coming over
the pass, cold rain,

the steep drop,
the silent lake,

couldn’t see
a thing.

And the lights
of those first

few towns, so warm
at a distance–

another arrival,
and what then?

A stone,
no other word.

Unmoved
and unmovable,

aloof. Knit a nest
for it, feather

the den, dust off
the snow–

or don’t.