I once heard an ode to the
Persistence of nimble dreams
Cavorting about as
Children along banks flush with white.
It said that the creek of daily sorrows
Had been frozen in time,
That its ripples had now crystallized into a
Colorful panoply of sagittate leaves all pointing in
Different directions, without destination,
Or with a view to all of them.
It said that magic no longer treads solely in the
Fertile garden of green minds,
But in little eyes scintillating with anticipation
And unconditional wonderment,
In homes warmed by the sustained flicker of
Sprightly, ruddy-faced harmonies,
In the way you peer out of the window to
Capture a distant gegenshein winking back at you,
Reminding you of that time when the
Impetuous laughter of innocence never had to knock.
It also said that a child is born
In all of us.
And then reborn.
Art: “Christmas Candle Light”