Christmas Night II

The cool December breeze

wanders through the town,

aimless as shooting stars

over a pasture where a heifer

breaks the glass of a pond

and splashes toward a clear

opening, for even the goats

have come down off the stony

hillside to rest by the roots

of the allamanda--it's time;

time to wash away

the smoke of the year's turmoil,

to put aside profits, gains, losses--

the familiar ache that brings

tears in the bathroom mirror--it’s time;

time to listen to the wind's

chorus of the children's carols,

time to untie the knots in the old

men's arms, loosen the cords

around the old women's hips, crown

with poinsettias the young girls' hair,

garland the young men's shoulders--its time;

time to smooth the lines,

dampen the fires in the wrists, knees, elbows,

and pour the balm of aloe over the new

skin that we are becoming

with every flicker of candles

reflected in the circle of faces

of those here, gone, and to come,

whose only promise is joy.

***

From Twelve Poems and A Story for Christmas.

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