Holiday Spirits/At the Goblin Fireside

Under the waterglass, where I step into the shear street,
Smooth and deep and bright, there is a fire in the window
Glowing deep as chill, oncoming night--

At the goblin fireside, wrapped in scarves and stories,
Voices flicker in the window, telling tales strong as liquor
Against the frozen burn of oncoming night.

I have lost my way to Christmas, muffled are the bells,
But the blue flames of goblins, their fell, fey angels circling
Like a flock before oncoming night...

Here there are no lost princesses, no hidden heirs, only
Fey angels singing quests above the silent city bells
Deep within oncoming night.

In the old city, on a floor reflected high above
The stones, I hear those snowbound angels tuning
Their voices of oncoming night.

Linking up with Poets United and The Sunday Muse. It is variously chilly, warm, and stormy here just north of Houston. Holiday plans dangle on the whims of storms and, lately, I have been more inclined to sit on the couch and brood rather than actively enjoy the season. Except for Christmas lights, which I enjoy as often as I can. That's probably one of the reasons I enjoy this picture, where the colors are just a bit heightened in the reflection, as if the building is trying on something warmer or dreaming about it. 

I'm also starting to build my 2019 TBR, so if anyone has suggestions for good books to read (your book?), please let me know in the comments. :) Hoping this finds everyone at the beginning of a good week!

-- chrissa