A Steady Surprise of Stars

We took turns dragging the blade,

carried the tree inside

and screwed it into standing.

Some people like colored lights

but we don’t, he told our baby girl.

I wish I smoked so I could

stand in the yard, snow almost blue

with cold, banked around me

like forgiveness. Once I thought

fireflies when I saw our lit branches.

We look at the world once—

lavender, still green grass—

in childhood. The rest is memory.

I came in and unleashed the dog

and dropped the mail. Something

happened to you out there, he said.

His skin was the light

at the center of the heat, the lights

on the tree were white bulbs

of heat, dancers and skaters spun

from boughs, silver apples, silver bells,

and at the peak five silver arms

caught light and held. Now

they’re seen.