A Gathering of Ghosts

	We speak when the fireplace roars
dead toppled aspen trees on this mountain
			smoke billowing
caught between the room we sit in 
 	and the chimney heavy choking
   branches burning in the trees of night.
Old logs harvested eighty years ago
   encapsulating my wife's family
I am a willing guest and progenitor of ghosts
here in this cabin her father, grandfather,
		uncles and aunts built
in the wilderness of the grid
			oh! these mountains!
where the wind blows over their bones
   between these peaks where elk graze
	the mountain lions, bears
		otters in morning brooks
so light in the morning, but here we are
with the night outside and the these generations!
I have a scotch deep in this wilderness
	where I find peace
		and speak
to my wife as each read out separate books
like a cat coiling around our lungs
she listens to the little girl of magic
	she was and will
		always be
among these family members buried on this mountain
and answers among the ghost
	I find myself alone
		at peace
			alone
in this dowry you wife were bequeathed
What do you hear!  What do you hear!
	And what am I ghosting in this space?