In Bali are craftsmen who gather up bits
of the world overseas for fashioning windchimes
with pipes, wood and string.
On my porch hangs a Santa with wings, over chimes,
below these a totem,
the sun and the moon, back to back.

He flies into thunderstorms, and probably wonders
why his life is consigned to do battle with
Midwestern weather. The smile is engraved.
So far from home, he is lashed to the porch,
to challenge the sadness of everyday life.

The breeze comes up, and there he goes.
On Santa, on Santa.
Chime on into the night.