Come! See my Christmas Tree.
Muslim brother, Buddhist soul teacher,
Jewish uncle.
Come, my ancestral cousins.
See this trellis of flowers,
flame, paper birds, tinsel tears.
For a week in the gloom of winter,
a festival of flags.
I’ll stand aside,
to see it in the luster of your eyes.
I want you to be the branches
of its evergreen.
The friends I played with.
My comrades on a field of exploding stars.
Wind that filled my arms.
Everything that ever lived in me,
ornaments that tremble and touch,
and in the myths that I live,
your faces, each one,
the magical crown at the top.