The whiteness curls
in glowing brightness
'round me,
a singing rhyme of sparkle,
a blushing, metallic ring.

Songs come pouring
through the darkest inches,
and in whole, holy evenness
talk to my sleeping brain
(time to wake up!
they say).

Cool cookie dough
kneads through my fingers,
sugar, butter,
the smell of egg yolks and constancy.

Soft things wrapped
in hard paper,
nestled softly in the coves
and bays of pine needles,
fallen from our decorating,
to ornament the blankness
beneath.

The funny voices and notes
of Christmas carols,
trying so hard
to sound serene,
but yearning, crying,
for the freedom to
yell and shout in joy.

Tomorrow
will be perfect and bright and gold,
and tonight is silvery,
sleek,
and shining with expectation.