Often from the window he would witness

The night as moonlight fell across

Leafless limbs and stitched darkly

Seams in belatedly, fallen snow.

To search more deeply, he’d press

His face almost touching the pane

While his eyes traced the tracks

Printed over that open space

Till they turned north toward the wood

Where the cover of darkness night

Shed within those dense trees

And shuttered nocturnal forms

Against the lone man whose eyes

They would neither know nor fear.