I place my ear against the glass
the cicadas are chirring, there is a light breeze
a dust cloud forms on the horizon lit up by headlights
the engine rumbles closer
gravel knocks against the underbelly, wheels turn toward my room
a door creaks, a stranger materializes into mother with each footstep
my body folds into her long blue coat
ice breaking
I cross the wires where the hairs rest on the red barbs. Her scent lingers in the air. My hatchet mirrors the round moon momentarily as I swing it above me to split the thick sheet of ice.
Behind a tree, she watches the water rise and collect in a small pocket. Her hips shift, then she descends down the white embankment toward me.