Mary creates a manger
out of clementine boxes from Spain,
the sweet tangerines of Iberia.
Cyclamens on the table,
lover-like butterflies above
white webbed leaves.
The Christmas tree remains
from December, 12th night has passed.
Sleet outside has turned to snow.
The air twinkles with flurries.
A great white owl
spreads its wings above me.
A nocturnal power of arctic fury.
Fifty years, and
I stand in a silent room
saying, yes, yes, to
the talons of a fierce, primordial
its eyes enormous in the vastness
of the cold.
A glimpse into immensity at midnight,
torn open by something wonderful.