I have paid a thousand hours penance
for her spun silk hair and faded blue eyes
sliced my voice on the shattered glass of fragile Christmas bulbs
golden stars and sparkling orbs, blue and red and green
and touched with glitter
in the center of something plastic, the holy parents pray
over the lifeless molded body of the baby
with no eyes.
I could never reach the top
with the icicles I threw.
In the dark, the lights throw colors at the wall
and the threads that hold the past together
rot away and die.