---

 

WONDERLANDS

∴

do not be dismayed
by the brown of the earth
that roads and curls in stoney swirls,
thinking only of want for snow.

it is hard not to miss magic
when everything
has become so very real.

 

if i could dream,
i would take my labors
like a spade upon my shoulder
and dig down
in the dirt

until i found

a white blanket
of wonderlands,

and lay it out

over this place,

over this mind,

over this heart,

and prove

that what we cannot see
is still there

and just slightly covered
by a forgetful
and disguising ground.

 

∴

 

 

---

 

---

 

THE LIST

∴

i had a list
of all the wrongs
that had ever been done to me.

i added to it daily.

i wrote on every clean space there was.

 

it was such a big list
i didn’t even know it was there.

 

it was the wallpaper
that draped the walls
that made the room
i lived in.

i made matching drapes
so it was homey.

i burned incense therein,
to try and make it holy.

 

i’m not sure how it started;

whether there was a chipped piece
of that paper
that i picked
and couldn’t stop,

or if perhaps,
when moving some large piece
of mental furniture, –

those fixtures we frequently sit upon
are rarely question their comfort, location, or age –

i banged into the wall
hard enough
to break off a bit
of that plastered seal,

 

and the lines
of the pages
of the paper
on the wall –

that long, long list –

that wrapper of right worlds –

began to peel.

 

in thin layers,
crisp as an onion skin,
letters dropped from words
like dead-dried warts
from a softer sole

and i could walk again,
without their customed limp.

 

i walked to every wall
and peeled,
and stripped,
and washed,
and ripped,

and reassembled the words upon those walls to read:

 

i forgive.

i forgive.

i forgive.

 

and then i saw,
no walls at all.

 

i had papered
the very air about me.

 

∴

 

 

---

 

---

 

SNOW

 

∴

 

snow
does not work

like rain.

 

it’s made of the same stuff,
to be sure,

 

but where rain drives,
snow dances.

 

where rain falls,
snow floats,

 

and plays on the current

 

in mischievous dodgings
and happy bursts

 

until finally,

it lands,

rests,

and stays.

 

my love,

will you play?

 

∴

 

 

---

 

---

 

THE INN

or

AN ADVENT PRAYER FOR THE MIDDLE CLASS

 

∴

 

there is no room at the inn.

there is no room here.

i have laced the newel posts of ascending stairs
with twisted garland and berries

but i have not laced my boots
for the journey you will set me on.

 

i have set the table with crystal
holding chocolate,
holding creams,
holding brandied nuts,
and next year’s dreams,

but i have not set my posture firm
to hold you.

 

i have lit the corners of this abode
with twinkling lights and LED
and candles that flare with scent,
but the corners of this inner man
still wait in shielded tent.

 

i have filled the glasses and poured the wine
still
no intoxication satisfies.

 

i have bought and bought and bought and bought
always more than what was planned
to give to give to give
to get;

and all-consuming consumer fire’s flames
endlessly are fanned.

with no riches left
to warm one’s self by.

 

only once

 

when i sung the hymn that somber welcomes,
did my soul budge
into your presence,
and was briefly lit up
like an agate, caught by the sun
that peeped between the rain clouds,
and made me

– radiate –

 

oh what rich waves
of the earth
are stained
upon our skins!

 

there is no room at the inn.

but please,

please,

 

come anyway.

 

∴

 

 

---

 

---

 

BRAID

 

∴

 

change is a strange companion.

are we changing
or changing back?

or is it a constant braiding
of all that was
and all that is to come,

overlapping
and twisting

in the uncomfortable epiphanies
that occur

when you come out from under one thing,
just to pass and curl
under another?

 

but moving days
make for long braids:

beautiful,

variegated,

and strong.

 

∴

 

 

---