The Emptiness of Winter

It is not enough that you
confront the emptiness
of yourself,
of the world.

This frozen soul
forces me to
contemplate
an endless waste
entirely
of my making.

Laugh and it is torn from you.
Cry and your tears freeze.
Plead—no one will free you—

you get one chance.

 

Significance Of The Nativity 1

a time to look through windows
streaked with the residue of summer
sealed with lacework of beautiful abstraction

the sun has been replaced
with eternal shadow that penetrates
to secret thoughts long left buried
treasure in oaken casks, guarded by
phantasmagoria—hide them from discovery

now secret thoughts are strewn
across a frozen ocean floor
dust motes to chase down
with mop, brush and broom
hustle back into their respective closets
with a new appreciation
for the importance of a promise kept
or broken

 

Significance Of The Nativity 2

this season we open and close shutters
release bars of light interspersed
with sudden silent shadow
across mute indeterminate landscape

day disappears into a hidden slot
like a venetian roller desk opens
to reveal the time of language—
words, lamps, exile and nativity—
these symbols float like shadows
on newly mummified time

suddenly, what we ignored
confronts us, the strong is straw

an open shutter records it
in an instant artifice of light
now is the time to ponder glass,
lenses, daguerreotypes,
hieroglyphs, and encrypted codes, all
that we surround ourselves with

we have been forced, back against the wall
we built, to know the heart of stone,
father of wood, seminalism of fire,
a time to rediscover what we already knew
that which we so casually abandoned
in some hut or shed

 

Significance Of The Nativity 3

we open these windows
to steal a little light into the world,
fearing shadows that have disappeared.
we must find new windows
and meditate upon the signing
of illumination,
the language of perception
discerned in the tattoo
beat between fire and stone.
the golden glow of our achievement
must match the withdrawal of the sun
and the richness of the gift
must induce its return.
old soil must lie fallow.

a time that abounds with fruit and seed
that measures what we remember
against what we record.
day and night, crystal and glass,
light fluted through festive wines
pressed in the family cellar.
drink and feel the grass sleep,
pastures dream between nude trees.
drink and caress your aching womb,
feel it fill with new light.
call forth a new god.
remake it as you remember it,
what it was before.
describe it, invent it, bind it,
let it supplant the endless waiting
that is a child’s time.
when you can wait no more,
the wait you have learnt to endure,
and cherish;

listen to the song sung
by a sparrow that has found
a kernel of corn in the snow.

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