What is there left for me to wish for
when snowflakes don wings and float
to the ground from brighter stars
winter light, wrapped and twisted
into stalactite spears on the roof?

Do I wish for the sun to come again?
To turn this night into a flowing brook
the snowmen slipping away, a carrot
carried by the current to the roadside?

The salt comes up on the windshield
the sun becomes a wall to drive toward.
I'm blinded as I drive today; though
the sun is only trying to shine for me;
still, it could get me killed if I look.

There are stockings at home now,
a fire is roaring, the sound of laughter
in another room, drifts in all sneaky,
like peppermint into cocoa.

All the cards are on display here,
by a tree wrapped in tinsel,
blinking, blinking; and I am staring
and outside the snowflakes
losing wings, collapse to the ground
in tiny sighs; the wind is in the trees
sounds of laughter in another room.

The snow capped mountains
of marshmallow have sunk into
the cocoa; the candy cane has lost
all of its color, there are sounds
of laughter from another room.

When do you come in, smiling, to say
how wonderful Christmas has been
so far, don't you think? And the snow?
How lucky for us to have snow this year.

"The kids are having a snowball fight."

Maybe I will go watch them
through the window, maybe I will stay
with the fire, the cocoa and the laughter
in the other room as it moves outside,
with all the rest of the beauty.


-e.







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