the noise in the distance
is breaking into form
as the angel as for repentance
and the magma is still warm.
I ask santa claus if it began this way,
he ignores and starts the storm.
I see my parents’ eyes as they slowly lay
their presents on the molten soil,
then quickly turn to gray
I see myself in fraternal toil
and a stocking full of conscience.
No one would imagine, santa was to spoil.