Crow’s Nest

The moon has lost a sock in that dark meadow,
and the wind’s gone south. I sit here
in the silver pre-dawn sky, all soot and shadow,
hoarfrost gathering between my toes. I know
that nothing’s ever lost or gone: it’s here
today and here again tomorrow. Snow
is rain is ripe corn, coal. The world can’t show
itself at once. And so I’m sitting here,
I’m perched with patience, and can take it slow.