When the season wanes
please confer the pine
to a dying pile
on some coastal shore
a biodegradable fence
against erosion—
and rejoice in
“the unconquerable sun”
Mother, forgive us; for we do what we do not know.
Christmas anymore is low art
crass decorations having lost
logos in mammon’s last-
clutch effort to spread
plastic around the world
with mass consumption unlike
Mardi Gras before Lent’s long fast
or a quiet Seudah Mafseket
to receive that better part—
a quiet plummet into wintering . . .
