I remember being in my backyard.
I was five. It was night, and Christmas
was the incantation.
I searched the skies
wanting to believe I could see
Sometimes in school I thought I saw
elves peering over the window ledges
into my classroom.
It was all about magic,
snow sprinkles and
little drummer boys.
I did not know that it was my father
lathered by beer and longing
descending the chimney.
So what to do now after the earthquake
of childhood has made the mysterious
How many sweat lodges, how many poems,
how many miracles – before I’ll believe
in the incredible.