Imagining Falcons’ Winter Nights

The solitary peregrine
Has been joined, and now there’s a pair.
Will they nest? Only spring will tell.

It’s winter here now, or nearly,
And once the snow, fitful so far,
Settles in, only the skiers

And snowmobilers will come up,
Mostly the latter since they scare
Away the former with their noise.

At night, it will be still and cold,
No lights but stars and satellites,
All the big summer houses closed,

Their pipes drained and shut not to burst—
Fifteen, sixteen hours of quiet
Darkness, deep blurred when it’s snowing.

And the peregrines will winter
And hunt, and probably survive,
It’s possible to imagine.