Xmas

Approaching the darkest
night of the year
with blood under nails
and unkempt hair
and a thirst
for rare-
ified
air
and a dare
if I'd
taken
the shot
if I'd
taken her
spot
I'd be waking
and not
in this dream
where the prick
of the point
of a flickering
flake of snow
guillotine
or a bow
and a blade
and the broad-head
has done
all it could
call it good
call it game
walnut wood
where you hang
on your cross
from your vows
with your dross
and your dream
of a Wonderful Life
as a wife
as the Bride
of a Christ
that forgives
and lives twice
and then sieves
it suffices
to bleed
just a little
to rinse
in the riddle
of a rite
where the
night
might be bright
for the duramen
for a darker
knight.