Nighttime In The North

I
Nighttime in the north
is hardly ever romantic;
unless the coyotes
singing love songs to the moon
across an empty highway etched
as deep in prairie grass as the grouse,
who coos her lullaby to chicks
hiding beneath her mottled wings;
makes you believe in love.

II
Teen love always finds shelter
below the draping leaves of birch
or willow, drawn closed
against the bright eyes that blink
a gleam into this private moment.
The cattails sigh against the brush
of river current upon the bank
and no one can be sure
if muskrat or beaver
splashes wetly in the dark.

III
Too soon the frost sneaks
in and does its evil damage
to the shades of green
painted on a summer forest
but only in the gloaming
does the chill descend beneath
the loam to prepare the way
for deeper, white crystal
icing, powdered on low, bramble
bedding where deer curl
their rest into a hushed dawn.

IV
I would not change this quiet
for the thrum of city drums.
The moon is not so bright
above the steaming vents
of towers and cramped roofs
of townhomes. Streets snake
along the river like a labyrinth
winds inwards, only to spin
back out on itself and open
to a harried crowd. No room
for meditation on the path.
No quiet calm to quench
the thirst for solitary thought.

V
Sleep with me and find dreams
that move us into tomorrow,
where fulfilled or not,
we will always have this memory.
Curled together we fit
our breath in time;
move toward the dawn.
Two clouds blown from the west-
_________________

Note: This is a resub of a poem written a couple of years ago. I love the mood of this piece as much as I love the north. Thank you for reading.