Just south of the chicken coop,
Along the rusted wire lines
That have coagulated into maple trunks,
A black sky lets Venus outshine a million stars,
And the wind rubs my head
in the grotto beneath my hooded sweatshirt.
\The kitchen lights yellow the snow
Down the hills toward the house,
And I can see my son Richard at
The computer through the window--
An image framed on a TV in a dark room.
\I will, without fanfare,
Watch the night sky change direction
Over the pine tops beyond the knoll.
\I will stand here and
Follow my hot breath
Wisp clouds to the stars.

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