by Patrice M. Wilson

O, for a miraculous shedding of skin,
close continuance along a familiar ground,
the comfort that no one is coming,
not even registrants giving to Caesar—

only perhaps the kind of poverty
that keeps one from fear, that keeps
place and time in a muddle of wine—

O, for more space on Christmas cards
to write words that condense into silver coins
laid out on midnight and flung into love,

the heavens, the moon
raining down fine mists
of pearly light that gently come to rest
on whatever skin is left.

Born Catholic in Newark NJ, raised in Catholic schools, Patrice M. Wilson has a PhD in English from the University of Hawaii at Manoa, having earned her MA there and her BA at the University of Maryland, College Park. She was editor of the very fine Hawaii Pacific Review for 16 years while teaching at Hawaii Pacific University. She has three chapbooks of poetry with Finishing Line Press, and one full-length poetry collection with Christian publisher eLectio Publishing. Dr. Wilson recently spent five years in the cloistered Carmelite monastery in Kaneohe, HI. She is now a retired professor living in Mililani, Oahu, HI.