Schizophrenic Christmas I Feeling the axe in the hand. God might be a good idea. So maybe you already know what I’m thinking. When I love, I attempt, insanely, To find a way to give Only from what is mine. At some point, The voices condemned me yet again And I arrived at a birth. I throw away trying to be reasonable In exchange for a new spirit And something else I never understood. II Chopping down the tree. I have been trapped as if in the fine grain Of a tree that knew its secret. It could be that we love But choose to remain silent. Each step opens onto a little more of the path we follow Because we are joined to the world, umbilically. This is a prayer, Leaving those we love behind, Fumbling with sacred things, Earning the chance to love As humans love. III The tree falls. H