If you put down your phone right now
you’ll be bested by a thin carol
wafting on the dark.
If you go outside right now
you’ll see trees scuttling northward
in broken moonlight.
Days are holy if you love them wholly.
Believe some gifts are worth taking:
rainbow spritz, battle-axes,
inscrutable military insignia
to show people you’re great and virtuous.
If it’s not vintage, make it vintage —
by hating it until you love it.
Listen, indulge the meatheads, just a little.
Let the missionaries have their cake.
Fuck your lover. If you can’t fuck em
whisper that you will. Whisper red light.
Wear green sweaters.
If you don’t have sweaters, buy some.
If you don’t have money, make some.
Use old yarn from your grandmother’s house.
Love grandmothers if you can.
Love people if you can.
Let dying friendships die with grace.
Let good friendships bring you peace.
Close the door if you’re cold. Don’t pick up your phone.
Fold some napkins. Hold the air of your thoughts
till each is lit like a candle.
Devote yourself to holiness. Even fungus.
Keep what lives
glowing to Christmas morning.