Santa holds your invisible hand

Vow poem II

Henri-Edmond Cross, Valley with Fir (Shade on the Moutain), 1909 (source)

We descend from
the pine-stippled shade into
a wide yellow

crock of hoary
light. Gold is the grasses’
million-headed dream.

You fill me
so full of the unseen
that I grieve.

Heaven is brown
for seed-feet like these.
Who if not

the dark land
sleeps our little bodies like
rain coming down?

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“Vow poems” are original works shared with paid subscribers, in gratitude. The above appears in Young Santa, forthcoming from Thiessen Press in September.