When Christmas Cactus Blooms Again

When Christmas cactus blooms again,
And half the wine still waits in glass,
The autumn leaves like dreams that pass
Tap wings of fire against the pane.

The skies are blue — too deep, too wide,
No guiding line for birds to see,
Their songs drift down uncertainly —
Like someone whispering “forgive” outside.

When Christmas cactus blooms once more,
My memory’s gone on holiday,
Yet restless thoughts still seem to stay,
Unwilling to unlock the door.

The day is long, the night’s a flame,
Half-drunk with stars and scented pine,
She sheds her dress of needles fine,
Ashamed, yet lovely all the same.

That strip-tease feels so sad, so shy,
For naked truth’s a fragile thing,
And winds, despairing, wandering,
Hide under clouds that hurry by.

When Christmas cactus blooms again,
On window old, with stories deep,
The golden sun, before its sleep,
Draws glowing petals on the pane.

Beyond the glass — no grief, no pain,
Just honey light, serene and kind.
Perhaps I’ve left some thought behind —
But should I chase it back again?