Steps to Closing the Cabin at Silver Lake

 

Steps to Closing the Cabin at Silver Lake

Remove palettes of dock still slimy
with summer, leave only a stub.
With friends toast the beefy sunset
from rare to well-done to salted with stars.
Walk friends up trail to cars, sidestep worried
glances, say you’re fine, say goodbye.
Listen as loons beseech, locate,
gather their lovers. Be fine.

Awaken to half a gray moon in half a gray night.
Equinox. Fog. Half everything, dark.
Bury compost, burn burnables, drain the pipes.
Store the hummingbird feeder, all gone south.
Bike a final ride among hills once cleared
as dairy pastures, now reborn as deep woods,
maple to hemlock toppling old stone fences,
a century of Adirondack second growth.
Wonder if the heart has second growth.

Return by bike to the stub. Strip,
jump, gasp in bone-chill, swim briefly
as your penis shrinks to peanut,
as testicles try to re-enter your torso.

Dress warmly. Walk through a final inspection.
Linger next to a little glass jug
where she would leave wildflowers.
Watch as a bumblebee yellow and black
drops with a thump from the sky,
crawls the windowsill with fuzzy grit
seeking color, entry, warmth. Imagine
on ragged wings, you fly.

……

First published in Sheila-Na-Gig. Thank you editor Hayley Haugen.
photo by David Mark