After Christmas Day,
 
missiles rain down on Ukraine—
 
the Prince of Peace weeps.

 
 
 

On Christmas morning
 
a newborn baby’s mewling
 
for his mother’s breast.

 
 
 

Surprised by an owl
 
on the night before Christmas,
 
a mouse becomes prey.

 
 
 

December’s new moon—
 
a plunge into deep darkness
 
just before Christmas

 
 
 

Days before Christmas,
 
the way of my pilgrimage
 
stays hidden from me.

 
 
 

After-Christmas rain—
 
greedily my plum tree drinks
 
to prepare for spring.

 
 
 

Little brown sparrow,
 
are you composing new songs
 
for Christmas morning?

 
 
 

As Christmas draws near,
 
children keep dreaming of things
 
they know they won’t get.

 
 
 

Four days past Christmas
 
some California mountains
 
wear new coats of snow.

 
 
 

Three days past Christmas
 
I sharpen my secateurs
 
to prune the plum tree.