We wake to the rumbling thunder of blood,
Pumping hearts, twisted hearts, this shadow and I
Squeeze into the thick silences of trees.
Now the dark lights of Christmastide afflict us
Twilight memories drift, flux and flicker
In this breeze of time.
Such pungent affirmations,
Slip into the generations of suffering:
Eyes lifted to a cross, a crescent, a menorah,
Yearnings spilling onto the page of history:
Promises made and never kept.
Out of time’s descent;
In the beginning was my end, my friend.
The sacred apartness of the intelligible:
Fragments of the blood, firings in the brain,
The body, a holy place again.
This tinder-box of meaning flares,
To an end.