Fire Watchers

“Untitled,” Petra Cortright, 2020, digital painting.

Through long binoculars:
          Pink-footed geese, gleaners,
women wobbling behind hounds
          leading downstream.

I know the truffle spots, the cave
          where lovers hide from rain.
I know the difference 
          between the smallest stretch

of smoke, and a breathy 
          laugh in winter. 
In fog, I calculate my sight 
          with meters and compasses.

Off-shift, I carve icons
          from felled  linden trees
so that awake, I may keep watch with Christ, 
          and asleep, rest in his peace.

Not a single spark grows 
          without His knowing.
My oldest son writes, to ask if I’m afraid
          of the cold night. I tell him simply:

I walk up the fire tower.
          I go to bed in double socks. 

I kiss the lock that secures me, 
          I kiss the rain in March.