This equinox night has turned frigid,
the cold leaching through the soles of my boots,
my mittens, my coat.
The marsh is not yet frozen solid;
stilled water quiets in the dark.
My small boat, handmade from a piece of pine bark,
sits on the surface, awaiting launch.
Its candle, a forgotten birthday stub,
will carry light across the glassy water
into the dark night.
This tiny taper, though small,
is enough to banish the darkness.
The Compline bell carries softly through rising mist
from the monastery across the bay.
And I, too, will away to my bed
when darkness reclaims the marsh,
a sickle moon lighting my way home.
INSTANT NOODLES 