Christmas Eve

Snow does not melt. It really won't

Be taken back, almost asleep.

It shapes the stones and makes them mossy-tender.

And fear inside gives in while being slender.

And all those lightest demons lose their grip.

Your breath is slightly cold.

And every lightest demon gains ground

In eating into that slimy soft brain -

as that's the Threshold

with its gaping 'hole', some spelt.

There is no sound but of a tinkled grain

Of blame, not to be found,

as you reached the locked-up gate:

You reached that Fold.

Now people rush across the snow,

Across the starving light,

Below the spirits flow,

Above the years losing sight.

And no more you do smite

yesterday's crutch

Which strode across your body,

But once left in the lurch

By those who loved you long before...

The shapes are dark and moody.

And so the day forgives you mumbling its double Dutch.

That woman with a curved-lips paralyzed

Went lightly by

diminishing in size:

Her wish unrealized to reach the sky;

But no one happened to achieve that twice

Except, perhaps, the dead.

She gave away the torment of her eyes -

one's daily bread...

And what if I say, 'You!

Turn back; how came that I became your own...'

And so you turn, 'Only a few

could say they're mine. Look at that 'circus clown':

He tosses color balls - three... two... Now one...

How did you happen just to be my son?

Look at this painted grass

And after that look at my toothless mouth...

To whom could you be bound,

you, the hound?'

And what if I saw you, an infant raped?

The jaws of neon blocks.

I've got you cheek by jowl. Take a step

Aside - and spit into my ear

Hard, so that I can hear

How many barrel-stocks

Knocking against each other like those cocks

to fertilize themselves in a crushing gear!

Outside this howling ecstasy of joy

With all our idiot smiles,

Yawning, preying for peace

As for nectarine juice -

let us see Her face-bruise:

How She casts luring glances and beguiles

And forces us to feel this light release,

Showing you love as you might be Her toy.

Once She rushed as a white ghost of your mother,

You have just caught a glimpse

Or have outlined rather.

And how could I hurt

You, little sparrow in the corners

Of the light, as dark as a midge

Beneath that old vomited bridge

You plainly fall under -

And deny the beating of my heart

As I wait till my inner thunder

Crushes up all former borders

Of some blind alleys - to depart.

The leech on a wrinkled face:

'The excess of your belief

Leads to some mental problems

(might be another sort of grace).

I failed to see the last leaf

Had fallen from the brittle bough of the Tree

But I just guess

There were no sly snakes,