Beside an altar of slush
from winter's ceaseless breakers
I trudge, straining
to hear the wind's fugues,
my spirit warming to the harmonies.
Christ is hope
Unrelieved, unrelenting nightfall
gorges on the half-light of dusk
branches casting crooked-fingered shadows
crescents between darknesses
chasing souvenirs of a watchful sun.
Christ is everywhere hope remains
Daylight retreats into memory,
the silver cathedral of sleep
made tomorrow's first gift.
One by one
we settle into our becoming,
dreams quivering with anticipation of nativity.
Christ is everywhere