Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Candles for Advent Reg Down

one candle lit and wondered
on its greeny wreath
as oak leaves wither
and waste themselves
upon the stony mantle.

the white light twains
as an ill wind blows
and the river drives its dark metal
over the bitter land.

the Trinity speaks in flames
only the One remains —
above my head
thrush and blackbird
flock their thirsty wings
to the broken bread.

Four candles sear my soul
Christ himself is near
as the pale dove
rides the wind.

The winterlands
hard with hail
scourge the oak and ash
— the earth broods —
the acorn rests
within its grail.

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