Buddha-Frost

Whether or not we’re born in a stable, Back of a dyke, a hospital ward or a tent It’s a date that clings to us, a sort of Defining skin like the click of a clock Around the world, at the time of the Eastern star In the frosty season, someone’s always left In the dark, wishing the lights would dim The tinkling of tills fall mute The i-pods sing in the street, the beggars grow strident Gales tear tinsel down from its gaudy heights Rudolphs glow in Disney living rooms The trees and the dark are there, they never leave The true and forgotten stars. If memories like stabs of pain flare up In the skull’s recesses, there’s always the frost Beautiful, sharp and complex, many patterned It seeks no gifts, no platitudes, no ritual ho-ho-ho Remember the secret snow, seek out its source Merge with the Christmas landscape, a watching owl, A part of the whole that starts and stops the heartbeat One with the trees, the darksome constellations Somewhere, the sheet’s drawn over a silent face Deaf to the clamorous streets, the shrill, unending carols A new mouth opens, the in and out of life