Jesus. David Craig

to himself on a corner

      of the stage, next to Schroeder

      who is almost listening, at his piano;

      Lucy, finally dancing—at the climax

      of the Christmas show, I know too

      that I have somewhere to go

      when this night is over, the last

      trace of carolers, lingering

      in the animated air:

      to the crib, (Schroeder’s music

      again, now distant, soft) where dirt,

      airborne debris are not new or

      unexpected, where the ones who do