Evening Star

crow calls
from the top
of a nearby pine
cordwood split and stacked
drying in a line

ashwood axe handle
in my hand
flannel shirt
worn wedding band

wish I could see
the Evening Star
waiting for
first snow to fall

my breath hot steam
in cold damp air
comb blistered fingers
through my sweaty hair

mountains rust
in the lake
clouds are swollen
low and pregnant

wish I could see
the Evening Star
waiting for
first snow to fall

thinking of you
now you’re on your way

found the first gray hair
in my beard today

For Chrissy.