I sit and listen to the fire. The dogs sleep near me, beneath a tattered blanket. Three stacks of wood, all decorated with tracks of the emerald ash borer, the beetle that killed the trees. The wood, heavy and well-seasoned, lacks the aroma of hickory but burns a long time. Four in the morning. Reading Ryokan: the long winter nights at Gogo-an. Ryokan: nothing but a few woodchips and no oil for the lamp. Ryokan: lonely and preparing his brush to write his poems. In his old age, he found the young nun Teishin. They wrote love poems to each other. I have fire and the company of dogs.

old blanket
two lumps
breathing