IN THE BOTTOM OF MY BAG

The wind blows cold
and whips the frosted breath
across my frozen cheeks.
I stand abreast my steel railed chariot

beneath the Northern Lights,
I listen to the sound of the
antlered behemoths pounding
a rhythm that drives my determination.

Midnight.
My trek begins,
rising to heights that until now were
unreachable. Unfathomable.

The wind no longer burns my face.
It soothes and comforts and fills my heart
with this love I have known my entire life.
With each bound I leave the desire

of all below. Rapid as night
my chore is ventured.
From village to town to city.
Each stop is a step closer

to my final destination.
For deep in the bottom of my bag
is a wisp of a frozen sigh.
It bears the name of you.

I slide down with my treasure in hand,
tip-toeing across the floor
to the side of your bed.
I warm the wisp with

the hotness of my breath.
I place it on your forehead.
The warmth of a breath,
a wisp of a sigh.

A kiss from a love so true
brought to you on this Christmas.
I am filled with the joy of the season.
My bag is empty, my journey is done. I am Santa Claus.