1
It is Christmas Eve,
and I wish it were always Christmas.
I know these smiles are not deep,
but I long to hold onto them—
like a drowning man
who knows the buoy is not enough,
yet still takes his chance.
He knows, deep in the depths of his death,
that there is no chance.
But still, he clings—
because a storm cannot rest
before the calm,
just as calm
before
the storm.
2
It is not Christmas Eve anymore
I wish it was Christmas always
I know I have left something in Christmas
Or Christmas has left something in me.
It is not the allure of wrapping papers
or anticipation boxes under the trees
It is something in the air
It is like all the triangles turning square.
