by Ron Wallace

The solstice has come
_____a blast of winter
riding the midnight air in feathered flakes.
There’s tinsel hanging on the tree,
Christmas lights of white
are reflecting on antique ornaments
_____that once hung on your shy smile,
but you’re not here
lifting the delicate pink pine cone
of fragile glass
to dangle from a cedar branch.

I am left alone to peer through the cold glass
_____of my winter window
looking for a star
that doesn’t shine there anymore.

At my back
_____I hear Johnny Cash singing
“We Three Kings of Orient Are”
like he did more than a score of years before,
_____but like that lost neon star
that disappeared from the high black of night,
you’re missing from the music,
and I am left with remnants of the past,
scattered everywhere
_____like the tattered wrapping paper,
__________strewn across the floor.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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