for the times of snow
for the thoughts of the dear
red bulbs adrift on the tree
an irreplaceable shimmering

my grandfather knows this
i am sure of it
a family in one moment
a tree at that moment's center

Christmas is about snow
it is cold on my skin
reminds me of my mortality
life. this is snow

trees drooping under its weight
waves of it drifting across the yard
a brown rabbit staring from the whiteness of it
the essence of it, a wanting to be shared

Christmas is not here now
I may not know it for some time
but in my heart it is there
in July, in the dead of night

escape in my dreams
to the soft, cold snow
it is where pine trees belong
where animals leave their trace
a wanting to be seen and known

Here
Christmas is dead
there is no snow
nice people all the same
but no snow.