The coming of the Magi

Oh mother, where's your little girl now?
Golden brown beneath an incandescent
sun, shiver swung from electric noose as God
laughs like the terrier next door, ratcatcher yelps
and hard biscuit yawns.

Christmas carries sex upon its breath, sackfuls of
naughty whisper ice is nicest when it's
free.  Note the catch and kiss of missed and may
be shush, there's good, let's spoon it up.

Mother waits with empty boxes
every year, Pandora's treasure passing by on ragged
wings -- those she wore that day when promise
wandered westward, folio in hand.  Now the tree
stands bare, shedding needles on the floor.

Can you hear the bells?  All is well.
Celebrate.  The world rejoices in glorious rebuke.
What is one star, when a galaxy is alight?