Lost in Christmas

When I think of you,
an ever burning fire,
dancing on baubles,
twisting lights, tinsel
and neatly ribboned
pretend presents

I hear laughter.

To work

Sunday morning,
frosted green,
torn from the page,
held to the glow,
the concrete platform,
hatch-lings wait
and in the train,
radiator warmth,
pictures of cold sleep,
yolk spilt,
rooftops, graveyards,
sleeping leaf.