Annual Xmas Poem 2014 We made new syrup in the crisp of Christmas. The long dark walk under sugary stars Through black maple woods stippled with buckets Hung on clotted faucets stabbed in every tree, Trudging noseward toward a warm sweet scent In crunchy rubber boots and wetted mittens Until the golden door under the tin shed roof Opened on suddenly summery snow, and we saw The great long room--one simmering pan Hot sweet and close as the world was cold: Icicles hanging off the wall were sugar, And the tipped tree sap was life and water. We stood in the heat's mouth and shoved logs in Fingertips red in the down-low glare, Moved loving paddles through the gold-brown skin, Nostrils fringed with the blood of maples, The blood of maples on eyelash and lip, There in the secret sweet hot church of life; Life pinned and poured, life of miles around, Sweet in bleeding the golden blood source That untapped stayed dry, cracked, dark.
