Magic is full on this day ... 

bewitched as it is with a snowfall   

out of dreams. 

And I wanted bluebirds.

So here they are ...  

flying all about, an amazement of color

in the brilliant white expanse.

The spell that is a white Christmas this day 

holds fast the mind

that conjured it—

out of desperate wanting—

and binds it to wonder. 

Imagine what else I might ask

Imagine what I could do in a year of days

desperately wanting every good thing,

all that could be, 

and all I could become.

 

happiness doesn't happen, you choose it

out of your own will of mind and spirit.

love, however, apparently does its own choosing

out of its own purpose and time ...

it happens.

for now, let it be enough for me,

choosing to be happy with your voice

the infinite reach of your mind

the delicious wanting.

but as for this love that chose us 

it is here, and in the time that is left

in what fellowship of mind shall we take it?

to will an extraordinary thing into being

or leave it as it lies, in some past life?