Christmas paper's thin.
I found the grace to watch you tear open.
I held my words in.
We live year-round in
pine tree scent, where
it's easier to forgive the winter's flagellation,
to believe in salvation,
and gallop from the gut-shot
with breath to star-gaze and repent.
After all, we're all following the trail
of our own pain,
which loops in some unforeseen way
and leads us back to where we thought
we'd once escaped.
Dormant new year anchor in,
absorbing each amen, until we
go to seed again.
©2023 | K.F. Hartless
Cover Art: Lavender Liu
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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