Poem for Advent

 

Harrowing

Darkness—slipping from the soft incandescence
behind the curtain—covers the child’s face, folding
him into the aether that divides blackest night from dawn.

The soft shuffle of life, behind and before him,
dares not break the silence, but hovers unnoticed,
clinging to the veil that droops across the door.

The cool, as at even, touches furtively the lingering warmth
of the room, knowing it is not heat’s absence, nor its inverse
the absence of itself—both alike, held in the balance: redemption.

Sweetest nectar waits upon the bitter palate, hopeful as water yearning
for the unquenched Dives, or as rain for parched earth before the storm’s
arrival—yet, “Hold,” the moment whispers, “j’ai soif.”

Behind the curtain, a child—being and becoming—holds his breath,
covers his eyes, counts the hours, and awaits a death that opens into life,
for in the space between, the realm of shadows is taken up by Light.

(December, 2025)