In winter, light is a trick
no common fog can stump.
I drink beer with the boys.
The sleepy deer shift gears
when coyotes take to chase
in the forest beyond the fence.
The secret of life is not secret.
Everything will come to an end.
Every day is the rapture
for someone, every minute.
Allow your memory to serve you
the healing weed of winter nights—
the weed is one trick to trick
the light into scotching the gloom.
Here's to summer—the ticks blend
into the skin. The skin blends into the forest.