Christmas Eve, Eve, Eve
The twenty-second and still
Three days left to go.

35.

Always traditions
This must be done or else it
Just won’t be Christmas.

36.

Hang on a second
Drink some wassail, eat chestnuts
Remember, it’s cold.

I think about hills so green they make your eyes hurt
About the Arabians in their silky tents and maybe
The beautiful dark Ethiopians loading canvas bags on camels
And perhaps because it is raining today
I think about a light, soft rain, gentle as kisses
Pouring down gray and blue over the verdant mountains
That first populated my mind’s eye when I
First raised the fragrant cup to my mouth and inhaled before drinking.

(M. Johnson)

Do you remember
what your hands smelled like
that summer afternoon
years ago when we were still immortal?

The sun was always shining then
Except for the rogue clouds that hid her face
And we would jump from shadow to shadow
In the endless afternoon of trees and grass

We went picking dandelions once
just weeds, yellow-tipped
gathered them up in golden mounds
their stems oozing white blood

Grass stained knees
Hands stained white and green
tasting bitter later if a finger strayed into the mouth
piles of gold on the white porch railing

Acid dawn: diffused colors but sunlight glares.

Brick house swept with fog, gray dissipating vapor veil.

Brisk breeze below brush, breathing bliss.

Captain, done with breakfast, push the chair back from the table.

Cat, Mercury, finished too, bowl of cream; wash, wash whiskers.

Cassette on the table, casket bearing pens and paper. Letter to the

Chancellor, words wet still, drying in the draft.

Clock on the wall keeping endless count, seconds never ending.

Coffee on the sideboard, fragrant against other smells.

Constellation on the wall: a painting of his ship.

Diary open to last year’s date, jagged handwriting, neat.

Enamel bowl by the door, Mercury makes his nest; the

Eponymous character, reluctant, returns to the desk.

Fallacy on paper: yet the argument still stands.

Garden in the sunlight, so much more appealing:

Glitter on the grass, dew catching rays, birds singing in the

Grove closer to the little pond so unlike the sea—

Inexorable the draw of water,

Inexplicable the world on land.

Ink dries on the paper, on the stand, on fingers rough from ropes.

Jewel: a perfect emerald, his analytic eye, set in gold;

Lacquer boxes, Chinese design, puzzles in puzzles, never give up their secrets.

Mirror reflections: box, man, beast;

Notebook reveals all: the contained thoughts of one used to freedom on the waves.

Orchard is fog-free now, nearly noon—peaches for lunch, perhaps.

Owl asleep in the tangled branches; they don’t have those at sea.

Pencil, fallen to the floor, rolls rough, wakes Mercury:

Planet-named feline, quick, hot, changing, he glares.

Plumes rustle in the vase, they draw his attention, but he doesn’t pounce.

Poison in the water, Nereus thinks; his mind won’t stay on the present.

Quarrel between the officers, all through the decks.

Queen banished Drake—no one’s exempt.

Rubber from India, his mind wanders again.

Soap, perfume, cloth, the holds their own wonderland.

Spacious, that’s what the ocean is; nothing gets in the way.

Superfluous this life on land; he wants planking under his boots once more.

Table isn’t his, belongs to the wife, too small for him.

Touché, Terra teases, touching true—to

Truck with all this, tedious. Poor husband.

Zinc bathtubs and toast in the morning is no life at all.

(http://www.listology.com/litgeek/list/my-favorite-words)