Basle
-5 degrees
and in an icy park
I grab at one tree
after another
every handhold
jars
overhead
red berries
cryopreserved
in tubes of ice
hang like
crystal decorations
from David Jones
each jolt
sets them swinging
and they tinkle in
merry clarity
next December
as heat
expands into the afternoon
and I become only
the surface of my skin
the memory
of that clear sound
turns me back
to bone and sinew –
to wonder
about Christmas
in a sweltering world …
