October 14, 2011KR OnlinePoetrySpecial Collections

Christmas Morning

A gull curved like a boomerang
slants the sky, tilting
the horizon with surge of snow
muffling eye and ear.
Its thin scream rattles the rigid twigs.
Trees stand shrunk
under the crouching clouds, worshipping
nothing.

And our packed houses
spires and lights so proudly
planted seem no more
than a huddle of grey tents
on the edge of the waiting mist.