Eagle River, 2017
Home one morning to find my
hat and gloves hard with frost on the spade handle.
Maybe you’d take my silence for a green
the sun gives to the shadowgrass.
And, as you boil the kettle to melt the drain
I’d watch a whole life come and go
in the very place I waited:
pruning shears, a wheelbarrow,
a rake, a hose wound halfway –
there you go –
bending to where a stepladder,
unfolded all summer, made perfect
stepping stones in the hard-packed light.