A bright December sun to overrun
the sky and burn a yellow fang across
the wide’ning river, shimmying beyond
the rounded bournes — still lightly a-slosh
on outer cusp of sleepy sound.
In a retired whaling town.

Hedge trimmed way back, exposing branches raw
with edges beveled sharp to fit straight sides.
A bluejay tilted under and along
a slanted bone. Then he dropped back and flied
away, his coat of blues and smock
a fluffy white with grayish shocks

But thirty-five has never felt so warm!
A lonely walk a Christmas at noon
it opens onto universes born
as flame on flame will leap to fire’s crackling tune.
Is eternity available is energy infinite
can we catch and through the God’s very Light
to heal these overlapping spots
my place yours too the nation’s tattered thoughts