Soft and still, the silent snow
Speaks in icy syllables –
Rosy cheeks and tingling toes,
Children carving angel’s wings,
Jingling sleigh-bells, frozen breath;
Holidays and lights on strings,
Life in temporary death.
O Morning Star,
You who fell from heaven
to take on flu and scars and walk
within weather and time and disappointment,
illuminate this frigid Dark that consumes my blighted soul,
that I might be released into my Destiny, to relay Your reflection as
moon to your sun, declaring brilliance in my lineage, decorating Your tree.