Dancing With The Stars

Early morning after

late night snowfall,

starlight before sunlight:

Two whirlwinds of snow,

conjured up by the wind,

lean into each other and

dance cheek-to-cheek

across

the empty field's parquet,

before

turning to two-step down

the dead end road

into oblivion.

An eagle sits atop a red pine

back on the ridge

behind the house;

across the dancers' ballroom

a raven alights on a white pine,

jawing, complaining, cajoling,

all who listen.

The pines whisper their eternal

secrets, the eagle silent, the raven

vociferous, the morning star left

to judge.

The sun rises, again, on the dead end road.