Walking Home in the Dark

The air is cold under the pin-holed
night sky, lover, and ice crystals
hang like actinic
film on gray aspens.

I’ll be your homespun sweater,
rough against bare skin. Take me as your patched
quilt. Use me for a tattered overcoat
turn my collar to the wind.

Tonight is dark, the northern lights crackle
and spit, green streaks like fingers
raking down the back of the night.
The moon is new
and only the subtle outline of trees
against the unclouded sky
marks our way.

Let me stumble the dark trails
ahead of you; I’ll trip
out a clear path.
I’ll be your guttering torch
against the dark, lover.
Light me on fire.