Poet’s Corner: Christmas Offering


By Lee H. McCormack

Sacrifice is the source of life:

We must always give away what we want most.

To live each day one asks the light for succor

One bows in dark and whispers

Praise for all that night allows.

This bickering between them

Between the aches and particles of joy

Gives cells the needed friction to create

What is unnamed and always blameless in its offerings,

And in all angelic thoughts we must forgive

Gravity for stealing our wings. Marooned,

the abandoned suffer more for the failure

To fly, but it is we who stay alive —

Confined in cycles of seasons and senses

To mine calendars and store our days

In rocky cairns of memory —

Who must ask the roads to forgive our footsteps

and sleep to forgive our dreams.

When rain takes away our grief there will be no need to forget

The intense, the urgent and the brief

And though it is never enough we each

Must give what we can and ask it be received.

In this ruined cathedral of sun and moon light

At the altar of dirt and water, shadows and form

All our gods have gathered, waiting to be born.

A resident of the dank and moldy primal forests of West Tisbury for over 30 years, Lee H. McCormack has been occasionally reported as actually being seen alive, usually from a great distance through high-octane vision-magnifying devices.