Thoughts on Cold Country Night

The moon gibbous, rising sun-like bright, sky that deep purple of Zane Grey

silhouettes the fractal branching of the wood,

as does in west the long gone sun of this now deep-evening day.

I pause a moment in the dark under-story at the rudimentary compost pit

when ghost flickened snow shadow seems to dart away -

weasel, cat, ground bird harvester  - weaving the ripple on my skin.

Unbidden ancient ancestor atavisms my tutored id

as, unbidden, wild geese night flying guided by albedo give vent to

that cry, layered onto our brain from when we dark ages hid

gathered in caves and barkened huts with flame a god against

the even then abstraction of the what and why and dread.

Breathe air in deep and cold layered into my chest in soothing

balm against my aging old and memories blest – and gone

from this spark flaring in the void - brightening, becoming, too soon

fading – leaving light rays pulsing outward into that void on and on and on

in coded message to the unknown, unbearable, unresponding void.

 norvellhimself 14Dec'13