striding across the sky from east to west, around
the pole star in your eternal chase
of that darned bull.
But here you are, striking my eyes
as I walk home from the bus stop
in this bright as day all night City.
A rare evening of sky tonight
with moon just past her peak and
a stiff wind off the ocean.
Cloud free and chill.
I straighten up, stop
out of a hunched shoulder swift pace
raise my eye and there you are,
harbinger of winter freeze,
bone cold damp, hindering snows
and dark short daylight. Perpetual
hunter and, this night,
welcome old friend.
Come into my house and sit for a bit, won’t you?
Set aside your sword, belt and all,
lower your tired outstretched arrow arm,
sit for a bit with me. Warm your bones
over my radiant heat, sip a hot whiskey
and rest your long legs. The bull will be no
further away, nor closer when you
rise and return to the sky.
Sit for a bit with me. Share
my lonely empty hearth, and be the old friend
I never thought I’d welcome here.