christmas poetry

the old west, the old time
i expect you
the air is full of dawn and spring
when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
my mother taught me that every night
stuff of the moon
a pen of steel
here falls no light
their beautiful hair
it was a tall young oysterman
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
perhaps
musing, between the sunset and the dark
i walk down the garden paths