Evergreen

This day is like the road,

running away as I ride

in the back of the truck,

braced up and nursing

a sloshing cup of brandy,

    sweetened with berries.

This tree is like a birth

laid heavy on my legs,

cut down to race a season

and run a greenness,

a last-year nest falling loose

   yet telling tales

of home.

 

All around, the pines

keep long the last light

with a wind song of hail

to the road before—

behind? The road I rode

    while hauled away.

What mystery!  Bringing home

a Christmas tree;

To tell of life in death,

to die even as it tells,

as sap runs from a wound,

    as a summer-sweet cup

is emptied.