Things get torn open

guts spilled out

before they can be put together

in order

one such box

reminded me of the tree

we waited in agony to see

it seemed the only point of agreement

they had

was secrecy

then it burst into sight

all the light and dangling sweet

ornaments

they fall into my hand

one by one

with a tender weight

and make me wish

for a frenzied burst of activity

although it will never bring

that magic

just a secret linkage

to some distant lineage

of joy