Sunday, December 27, 2015

Christmas clear

How thin the skin stretches

nearest the ear
to hear
sonatas play sketches
on piano, leaves and grasses.

How fluid light flutters
across darkness,
and yesterday's
bubbles rise
upon today's bleary eyes.

How cold stuffing stares
smelling pine unawares,
as time studies time
with needles stored
in the muddled attic of the mind.

How bruised and bored 
decorations wait 
in boxes saved just in case
next year the mystery's made 
Christmas clear.


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