Like Magic
and yet there is still hope
i remind myself
not to hunt alone
in the forests
of this frozen
temperate
zone without
knowledge
of the myths
the legends
not to tread boldly
on buried paths
without tested
companions
not to be lulled
to sleep
by fragrant cedar
or whispering oak
to bring along
spells and
pay heed to magic
the canopy
of fir and the
knocking
barren
limbs and trunks
hide more
than a
tropical
jungle's
thicket
here the bravest
warriors once walked
in filtered light
wary of
being left out
apart from others
after dark
*
at night the
demon minks
and otters
float in on
the river of dreams
dropping from
their mouths sticks
and bits of dead
ends of once living
things for me
to chew upon
over and
over again
to make me ache
to do what
won't be done with
only worn curses and
hollow incantations
*
in the morning
i exit through
the old door in
the thick walls of
this borrowed lodging
spread
seed from
plastic bags
to feed the
hungry
flocks
sparrows
titmice
hermit thrushes
thrashers
finches
cardinals
doves
black ravens
and clever
but still icy
crows
who focus for
the moment
on the scattered meal
and so
distract the eyes
the spirits use
to peer in
who winter
here with me
without
knowing
the words
i have for them
*
there is no stopping
what burrows up
with afterthoughts
at dusk
a few
deer
arrive
to scrape
and chew
what's left
to graze upon
they freeze
on slender limbs
yet leave a path
through the cold wood
prints of
cloven hooves
for me to
ponder through
this window
of frosted glass
steps and
narrow depressions
in the snow that stretch
beyond my sight
into the healing deep