My eyes veer off the road
and I hop the shoulder
and the crash rolls back my skin,
rolls back the old post and rail fence
rolls back the silky song of marrow
spun from a jag of bones.

A hawk raises off the ground
and I hear sleigh bells in June.
This is when I forget her name
and what she looked like
and how she kissed my neck.

Memory tears away from my head
until the only thing I know
is singing nöels
in a garbled, tuneless voice.

"We Three Kings" and "Silent Night,"
pine boughs over the mantle,
bourbon in the pewter,
the ribbons in her hair
like small Christmas haikus.

"How much do you love me?" she was saying.
"'Til I'm blue, blue in the face" was I.