maritime fog envelope stuffed chock
full O slow train, O head lamps
the workers O decked out
in reflection, O orange and hard hat
safety trained, bobbing breath
Ocean breathes wet
slipping way to blue, to gulls, O bellow
horns, drywallers crack jokes
below, the concrete men
screwing around between task
and the wrapping up, resorting
to resolve, passing time
through yule and aching hands
the open present, O children, behold!
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