on_christmas_eve ovenbird A day made for the anticipation of magic. The children we once were are stirring where they sleep curled in the lobes of our lungs, their dreams riding on the current of each exhale. Is there enough enchantment to turn time inside out? I'll leave cookies for benevolent spirits, pour out libations of milk upon the grave of my childhood. I'll sing ancient songs and look for the impossible flash of hooved ghosts crossing the face of the moon. I'll burn my wishes so the ashes climb the chimney and find their way to the perforated darkness. I'll ask to wake to a morning we can share. Both of us young and not yet broken. And I'll place in your palm a box no bigger than a goldfinch’s nest, wrapped in thistle down and tied with a ribbon of dry sea grass. Inside: a note that says “find me” and a map that shows you how so we can never be lost to each other no matter how often we fall through the cracks of a vast and uncertain future. 251224 what's it to you? who go blather from