Yesterday

he stuffed the dark unvisited corners of his attic with more insulation

and when it started to snow, he reveled in the fine mist of shadows

between the house and barn

where the light would catch a coyote later on.

 

Then he watched

the dry, rivulet circles her hastened tires made

before the tread-lines and ridges were filled with the storm;

he warmed his warm-enough hands near the blowing air

of the pellet stove

out of habit

 

and  kept hoping she was coming back.