Out the back window I see, resting there next
to the mulch bin, a giant Galapagos Tortoise,
not moving or eating anything, but simply resting,
steady and sure as the harvest moon,
its two front legs stretching out straight,
head peeking at me from beneath its dark carapace.
But I know it cannot be a Galapagos Tortoise
because this is winter in New England and snow
is covering everything, the yard
and trees and the mulch bin.
I rub my eyes, look out again see it’s only
the large rock at the end of the path resting
there sure and steady as Mars shining red
in the winter sky, and not a Galapagos Tortoise
after all, watching me quietly from out there
alongside the mulch bin in the snow.