Blue spruces, big as phantoms
in a little girl's dream, stacked
frozen, like cards from the Queen of Hearts,
and those Norway pines-an evergreen
profusion, where I learned
the love of men, bristled and aromatic,
in their plaid mufflers and orange
coats. The tree keeper, snow wedged
in his soles, gives my uncle
coffee in the sanctuary hut. Sitting
at the old table in my blue
snow suit I listened
to the laughter of business partners.
I was perfectly happy, nothing
demanded, sweetly ignored, perhaps
some small joy, like making
a snow angel in the parking lot.