Completely dark, no moon,
An entire set of stars
And portable flood lights
Shining on a pile of ghost
Logs covered in yesterday’s
Snow, the man in padded
Orange jumpsuit working
The winch, grabs each thick
Tree in icy steel fingers,
Hoists it onto the pile lying
In the trailer bed, cinches
It all down with monster
Chains, the links clanging
Into the remaining forest
White trunks at the edge
Of night, a moose stands
Invisible near the river
Watching as the truck pulls
Onto the frozen road,
Headlights glaring a wedge
Of brightness, the man
Blowing steam into stiff hands,
The radio blaring garbled
Distant voices, he’s not alone,
Downshifts into the turn
The engine bleats, lights cut
Across my bed.

© Copyright 2009 by Emily Strauss.
Used with the author’s permission.