I step out on my porch near midnight
Snow,
flecked by moon-made mica.
Cold, windless air - even
the roar of the woods
is faint tonight;
and faint, too,
the creak
of my leather jacket - faint
as the rigging of a galleon
heard across the seas of time....
While overhead
Orion faintly flickers.
(c) Copyright 2000. The Christian Science Publishing Society