I place my ear
against the glass
the cicadas are chirring,
there is a light breeze
a dust cloud forms on the horizon
lit up by headlights
the engine
rumbles closer
gravel knocks against the underbelly,
wheels turn toward my room
a door creaks, a stranger materializes
into mother with each footstep
my body folds
into her long blue coat
ice breaking
I cross the wires where the hairs rest
on the red barbs. Her scent lingers in the air.
My hatchet mirrors the round moon momentarily
as I swing it above me to split the thick sheet of ice.
Behind a tree, she watches
the water rise and collect in a small pocket.
Her hips shift, then she descends
down the white embankment toward me.