I see her again,

a cardinal in the snow.

Wild black hair is tufted up 

beneath her hard hat.

Layers of flannel and Carhart

swathe her against the cold.

Steel-toed jack boots stir dust

and dance across gulches of debris.

Gloved hands tear down and best

a pounding jack hammer.

Dark eyes glint behind shades

even as her smile sparkles me.

Will her eyes see through me

or invite me in?

Does she have nails

inside those gloves

to rake my back?

Can bathed and warm wet hair

drip further than her breasts?

Could I kiss her feet

having soothed them with oil?

Would she bite me

with those pearly teeth

and where?

Might she straddle me

pneumatic and also hammer?

Wrangling lumber and steel,

wrenching tools and tar;

I see her lithe frame,

as wirey as the rebar she wrestles.

But I feel a woman,

gentle and light as her laughter;

like the wings that loft

my cardinal in the snow.