Corner tree grafts itself partial into the house.
Basement ceiling shadows barbed wire, crossed Christmas lights.
Sound of plastic boxing goes on under the limbs where the cats tussle.
As I write now, all I am able to do is feel. Imagery, imagery, where have you gone?
Assembly of wires
in the limbs of the pole
colored for coding little papers
largest on the bottom, progressing
smaller as ascending boughs
approach the jingling star.
July Christmas come,
your saline waves
over milk
ages.
Did you name
the cow? Or, nameless,
does it wander as Peace attends
the stomaching of meadows
grazed, lowing, seeing
slow and square
the pastures
watered
stream.
All manner o f Peace has a name. God's
Kindred, Christ Jesus the Lamb.