I shut down the splitter, unplug my ears,
and sit on the porch, resting my bones
in what the Scots call the glimmerdim,
a sudden stillness in the dusk, atingle still
with the vibration of the chainsaw.
A lone raven flies out of the crimson west,
its wingbeats slow and powerful,
its croak echoing in the woods
as a flood of mist rises from the valley.
The woodshed is nearly filled.
The shadow of the earth engulfs me
as it drifts across the field toward the trees.
I feel the planet roll, I welcome the night,
at peace with the dark in me, knowing
I have but one life, this time through.
