The crunch of snow sifts through the
quiet moon night, footsteps sure of the path.
A small candle burns cupped inside
a clay-fired bowl formed from earth.
I make my way this long dark night
under bare limbed trees of winter.
Kneeling. I nestle the heart light into
crisp white snow. I await this eve for
rebirth, not the sweet babe innocent of its
journey mewing for mother’s milk.
I wait in the cold bone chilling to feel his
breath within, mixing with mine, becoming one.
As the days of Advent draw to a close and Christmas day nears, I find my poetry becoming sparse. Less to say and more space for listening.
You may read my previous poems from this Advent: