[18]

Winter Moon (It’s getting ridiculous)

The Trans-Canada lays ahead

like immense shadows, ungoverned shadows

on Lake Superior. Sault Ste Marie waits patiently in the distance,

a good distance, but

with the promise of

a shower and a warm bed.

As large flakes of snow explode on my cheeks

I realize that

I’ve charmed my last ride for the night. I

shrug my shoulders against the frozen air, frozen air that’s chapped away my knuckles,

and pitch my tent.

My solitary tent.

My last remaining friend.

As the blood slowly

makes amends with my

toes, help myself

to one last smoke,

one last green memory,

and unconditionally surrender to the winter moon.

A lustful winter moon.

For tonight, this is my

piece of planet Earth.

—Matt Stewart