I would like to say this
night is annunciation,
that the waning moon floats
the winter sky, a wafer of light
on a tongue of darkness,
or tell you how my father
once, legend has it, pissed
in the gas tank of a ’39 Ford
and rattled the last miles home,
but who knows where this
particular darkness will take us,
smuggling us in a willow basket
across the snowy fields
while Orion grabs, with one
strong arm, three rabbits by the ears,
with the other hoists
an armful of kindling, and plods
steadily across the sky. I meant
to tell you to breathe deeply,
meant to say I’ll be back,
in darkness or light, meant
to say we’ll lay a fire, roast
these mealy rabbits and sing
at the end of this short day a song
about light, how it comes again,
untended, regardless, hands out
in supplication, asking
forgiveness for being itself,
for being a disturbance of air
between the wings of night,
for promising us so much
that darkness finally delivers.