NIGHT OF EPIPHANY

The branches of the Christmas tree have bent.
No one has shared the brief magnificence
with me.  Tonight I'll put away
the tired ornaments, burn colored candles
in the dooryard drift of snow,
burn this year's tree in purifying fire,
watch smoke lift sky in drifting,
scented wreaths.  Who knows?
The blaze may rise a burning star
among the bright cold lights of other worlds
and guide the three wise kings to me
to tell again in these lost hours,
of Mary's child's divinity.