Castor Canadensis

Pale beams on frost pale ground;
the rutting moon has come and gone
and then the Beaver moon hung around
to show the whitefish where to spawn
as she trailed the Pleiades  
from early evening, through the night,
then down through all the leafless trees
to charm antipodean sight
by gibbose ostentation gloss
hued as gold as the Bifrost locks
of Hyperion and Helios
and the lumen lovely boondocks  
of lodges that the beaver built...
with sticks and stones...and moonlit silt.