We wake to the rumbling thunder of blood,
Pumping hearts, twisted hearts, this shadow and I
Squeeze into the thick silences of trees.
Soon the dark lights of Christmastide afflict us
Twilight memories drift, flux and flicker
In this breeze of Time,
Penumbra-beginning hologram-end,
Such pungent affirmations, slip into the past:
Generations of suffering:
eyes lifted to a cross, a crescent, a menorah,
Yearnings spilling onto the pages of history:
Promises made and never kept.
Out of time’s descent; we beget.
In the beginning was the word.
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,
Time ebbs and flows,
A means to an end.