I prefer the solace of this meadow, Hidden within overgrown red-osier dogwoods My bed still loaded with a few apple pallets Red cab a faded shade and gone to rust To any notion of reclamation, restoration Only to be shown at some "vintage car" night. This morning a mink left scat by my rear Passenger side flat tire. Looks like it ate A field mouse. They leave little hollow trails In the snow and so larger critters find them. Last week the fox, came out of its den to hunt And landed a rabbit in the predawn. I'm a night owl, I spend my blue-black listening To the waves of my lake eating the bluffs The way I am eaten by rust. The ruff edges Of grass and saplings resist, insist on remaining, The way a young child holds out against going to bed. Afraid of the dark and death. But they fall And are watched over by The Bear and Orion.