Seasonal Works with Letters on Fire

After the Feast at Year’s End

A F T E R T H E F E A S T AT Y E A R ’ S E N D —the flash, the low cry, a storm took the lights— where were you when the glass broke? Were you in the field with a startled heart? Earth’s axis tipped twice in the dark & nothing gleamed in a singular way—; whoodie-whoo went the owl in the incense bough, & a daffodil pushed up too soon like the thesis in a freshman essay . . . The dead are patient among the trees, visitor greets anti-visitor, masked chickadee, masked waxwing (masked waxwing is pretty darn hard to say); the violent are not carried away, they are packaged on Twitter . . . & your body is the broker for the wound & the miracle (though the wound can’t wait to reveal itself & the miracle learns the exit in advance—) 4 1 ...