Smoke of day’s end cigarette
glows against washed out sky
in muted porch light shine,
drifts between bones
of winter-worn maples.
Slouching layer of snow
sprawls over dormant lawn,
aglitter with silver sparks
where rabbits and squirrels
have laid no tracks.

Placid night air currents stir,
heavy with January thaw.
As darkness settles in
droning murmurs draw near
as eighteen wheels sing,
a distant highway chorus.
Infusions of first calm
seep into my muscles at last,
tension slinks off in defeat.

Casey Mack