White Christmas

Some years passed
since that first
February flurry;

yet, I still find
novelty in every
fall of snowflake.

They float into place
onto roof tops
and naked branches

and into our hair:
little and white
and nonchalant.

Like children praying
in God's mathematics,
I stick my tongue out.

Eyes closed, I trust
in the intangible
niceness of every taste



rediscovered.



Copyright 2010 by T.J. Blackburn

Snellville

1.

You said you need
half an hour.

So, I wait for you.

2.

Outside your house,
I watch stars—countless stars—
appear in August sky.
They shine like candles
left on windowsills to guide
the homeward bound.

3.

I assign seconds to distant suns, play connect-the-dots with time
till stars over Snellville: I am here, writing poetry in my head.

I am here.

4.

[Question:]
Are those stars the possibilities never actuated
into reality, pitied by the gods, rescued only to be
cast amongst the light year vastness?

5.

[Answer:]
We are Orion chasing the daughters of Atlas!
To pursue those stars
is to explore the subtle meanings
of happiness.





Copyright 2004, 2010 by T. J. Blackburn