By the light of six funnel lamps and then by the dark

We cleaned all the funnel lamps
and filled them with lamp oil.
A load of wood and the wood stove
in the corner. The calm lake.
Three loons land, one after the
other, on the lake. First their
landing gear skims and then the
white belly. You can hear their
skid landing. Sounds like peeling saran
wrap. There's a dark brown rabbit
walking across the front yard. Hardly
a hop in him. I'm reading the books
that have been at the cabin for thirty years.
Books on how to build a canoe,
how to tan beaver hide, books with
photos of men in short jackets
using crooked knives to make a
living off the land. There's a
short fiction anthology with a John
Cheever story, Goodbye Brother.
Quiet. And in the middle of the
night I stand naked outside
on the cement step, utter darkness
now, and stare up at the milky
way, the faraway gargle of loons.