O Christmas Tree

As we steady the tree
in its lighting allure cleanly cut from the root of the open expanse
to be crowded festooned before reflected pane in the starry eyed lightning of icons regale
with the presents of mine of the confluent greed
for these frankincense trinkets of hydrogen carbon
to anoint preserved bodies with aspartame myrrh
from the worn out well trade routes
of wizened flint skin

while the nail of the tree
in its light burning bright on the firing hearth of the parchments debris
torn asunder and bared in the flaring of hopes
scorching arid and fevered
this boughs crucible

what then visions fair dance
treading wee childrens nog working extra-plus-good to fill santa’s tribute
all the unwashed profane bear we gifted magicians
our vinegared toast
in the place of the milk

where we wish for each other as kindly imbibed
but the inside concedes to the lone silent sour
midst the shadowing branches of glaringly blind slyly spotted epiphany tugs at the sleeve
and the stain of the spirit of unrelent bleeding now castigates joy in its reveled appendence
while the evergreens death minds our mirrored disease and the flight of the dove
leaves the vine of the tree