Tuesday, December 24, 2019


Tender and mild is
the forecast tonight, incongruous

the amenity and abundance
now inhabiting

even the sparest interior spaces.
So this is where

all of your hope
and fear, your greed for knowledge,

your hoards of experience
have finally dropped you

off and left you—so undeserving,
with nothing at all solved,

resolved, or discovered—
delirious swirls of wan light,

gentle words, simple strains
of music repeating: all falling now,

less like snow
than the oils of anointing

on your brow. You could never
have earned such a blessing—

such a preposterous invitation,
so very near the end

of everything—to stay
just as you are a little longer.