confounding our image-driven idea of
what this holiday
Clammy, bone-chilling fog,
mystifying mist, blinding cloud
coming down .
Wrapping a scarf, buttoning a coat,
pulling a cap down over the eyes.
The chilly fog fingers insinuating themselves,
Looking up and out from the little parapet,
searching for the settled dome, the solid curve
Crackers and Santa Clause and plum pudding
all submerged in a flighty, uncalled-for
cloud of winter fog.
Will choirs surrender to it? The notes
melodies tangled in the soft white
cold nothing of mist.
Misty Christmas, welcome mist,
swaddling us, binding us in mystery.