Christmas Tree

Reflected on the black
of a plate glass wall,
the lobby’s tinseled tree
is x-rayed by the mall,

its branches filtered out
by their natural green,
leaving only brilliant white
shouting on the screen,

a kind of constellation
where the neon traces
of the pulsing lights
eliminate the skeleton

that supports their stellar
flight, the basted ends
of branches all that’s left,
the limbs erased

in favor of the coat,
a sparkling glissando
where fingers come to rest
on just one note,

and at so much cost,
where the ebb and flow
of fashion harms
the greater human good,

the underlying arms
that make a wood
shown up by the gaudy snow
and superficial frost

where, before the light was lost,
Igdrasil itself had stood.

December 8th, 2015