9:54 p.m. and it's late

the cold has stolen in across the mountains
slithering her way through the lodgepole pines
past the bears settling in for the winter, the
deer nestled together for the night, the mountain
lion lifting his nose for the scent.
it's dark and late, the curtains are drawn
to ward off the cold fingers reaching through
the windows, somehow it feels later tonight
after I moved the hands of all the clocks;
they told me it would feel so late tonight,
an hour more of cold sweeping through
the mountains to embrace this house.