Now the Christmas guests are gone.
At the table where they sat
a smudge of sauce, crumbs of bread.
Out the window, branches of natal plum,
the drip drip of rain on shiny oval leaves,
treacherous thorns; a single pure-white
bloom, five-petaled star: birth from blood.
A college choir from long ago
sings, "all is calm, all is bright."
The tiny tree lights-red, gold,
and green-curtain window panes
and in the air, where all is bare,
the lights take flight, string leafless
limbs, grey misty night.
© 2016 Augsburg Fortress, Publishers