Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Christmas Eve 2008

There is nothing to do but watch breath rise in prayer
Upon the icy winter air
A hope slimmer than the wisp of smoke rising from this votive light
lies in potential spaces:
Between the sheets of a child's bed,
in the sac that holds the heart.

As we hurtle through a blackened universe pricked with light,
we are alone,
we are together,
we are many,
we are one.


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