'Twas the night before Christmas in New Mexico
And the frost in the desert was white as the snow.
The foyer was tastefully decked with decor:
Tall dried ocotillo, a mask on the door
From Santa Fe's toniest gallery, made
To look like a Hopi kachina, displayed
To suggest a relic from some ancient rite
(The artist, I'm sorry to tell you, was white).
Some seasonal touches: a sculpted brass stag,
A candle that lit up its permanent bag,
A red-clay nativity that they both saw
One well-funded junket to Chichen Itza --
This stuff made the point that the Conscious lived here
And, just secondarily, Solstice was near.
