Nocturnal

by Judith Taylor

There is nothing
in this fantasy:
 
a bright wrapping
on the old midwinter dark.
 
Look at us all
uneasy, all pretending
 
not to be tired now.
Pretending we got our wishes.
 
Look at the things we brought
ourselves. The packages shaped like spirits
 
tied up and waiting their moment
in the shadows below the tree.