God isn’t apparent to senses,
between the snow flakes,
icy patches
and crowds.

The arbiter is in the work, yes,
good and better,
a tree that looks fine
a mountain in the right place,

but in this ghost of unity?
not there, really
it’s Christmas trees
nameless – can’t say it.
It’s hard frost, where hearts were,
were undulations in policy stay-
all the best to stay neutral
rather than ride that visible part.

I’m back to visible,
and the hymn playing in the background,
you know, the one without words-
well it has words but they’re muted
because it’s safer that way!

the Word inside the word
is missing in the brown of December,
under the umber and burnt umber
rests the spun ridgeline
and under it the trees.
(Yes, I’m back to the trees)
breathing and drawing in cold air,
but resting heartbeat-

One we know but don’t know,
the constant consonants
playing under snow and ice,
the strum of the earth.

Dave Barber
13 December 2008

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