This is the mole-
gray mouth of the year.
Yesterday I stole
out to your hunter’s cabin studio,
surprising two woodchucks and a deer
outside our makeshift bungalow.
On the way to Groton
I saw a dead rabbit
in the road, rotten
with crows pecking at his green entrails.
It’s nature, you would have said from habit
and continued on to cocktails.
The sun dogs were
in the sky overhead.
You, my voyager,
were dogging up the old globe going west
and I was at the feeder where juncos fed.
Alone in our place I was a guest.