• A sudden presence.
    He arrives through the pining air.
    The wind has left the holly
    To carry him here.
    I wave my sleeping hand
    To his lasting face:
    A bright pure symbol
    Displacing our pasts,
    Perfect as a candle
    At a yuletide feast.

    Christmas Eve,
    Each stained-glass dream
    Filters his acceptance.

    He's mid-winter himself
    Stretching white-angled wings
    To shadow the star and spire.

    Our thoughts exchange-
    As a wealth of presents
    In his frost-feeling night.
    Low fires and incense feed the
    Hours. The far hours which carry
    The Holy Gift:
    A love complete,
    Stepping, between
    The stars.