Just as dusk descends, I turn off
all the lights, switch on
my rust-

colored Italian table lamp
to the lowest level
of warm glow.

It whispers to me:
“Let me shift
your mood to one of calm

that breeds trust.”

“How?” I ask. Silence.
The room still. Music
no longer lulling me

into a false sense
of urgency. Angry voices
in my head come unplugged.

My crepuscular fingers float
to the smooth surface before me.
Words with no ulterior motive

flicker as reflections
on the nearby bookcase.
Beautifully illegible.

Nothing more needs to be
said. The night is fully
charged. The dead cougar’s body

is being stuffed and will be
on display soon to educate us all
about happier endings

without SUVs on highways
or territory loss.
It will snow again.