All the gifts seem to have been distributed.
The excitement passed like a rain cloud, blown away by
Summer wind. It’s a long way off, I’m counting the light-years
To the gentle warmth of galaxies. I am a decorated Christmas tree –
With broken branches and thinning green fur.
I am a lonely staghorn, longing for toys made of light.
When it snows and rains, the Three Kings choose others
Home. I empty out, like a garbage truck getting rid of
A pile of old teddy bears, I’m naked like a little bird whose last feather
Has been plucked by the world. I am slumbering like water stuck
In the palace of the lady who sows boredom.
How can I be when all the holidays are over and I don’t know what to expect?
How can I be, without any encouragement, without being able to hold the middle ground
Between hedonism and asceticism, between ambition and humility?
The January void is your last and greatest gift, my love.
I wrap a ribbon with oriental perfume, base notes –
The gently bitter promise of growth, the slow lengthening days.