23.

Sleepless

The creek is frozen.

All this clothing and still I shiver.

The goat rattles loose boarding behind the shack.

A decayed tree on the ridge gives way under ice.

Peering into the mirror by lamplight I see the

mole splotch spreading on my right cheek

and gray hairs spurting from my nostrils.

This is no occasion for talk so I grin

a gap-toothed grin at my new

friend who grins back at me

gap-toothedly so we nod

back and forth time and

again in full agreement

that it’s cold.