Little wonder the prophet spoke
of a coal burning his lips.
Word spreads like fire
and embers are carried from
neighbor to neighbor
coal by coal.
Even now our lips—
in new tongues—
mouth the ancient prayers.

Around the stable
stars cartwheel.

A woman steps
from the inn

Potato peeler in hand
to enter the stable.

As she approaches
to gaze at the infant

Potato peelings curl
at the foot of the manger.

The hay lights the crib
in all directions,

Scattered strokes of yellow
swirl.

In the background,
Joseph and Mary,
quiet onlookers.

Their bundled child
draws all eyes.

Even Vincent is here
painted in the corner.

His red beard
catches the eye,

Clashes with the canvas.
A dissonant chord,
his signature.

Love lit my wick.
Now little deaths gut me.
Steadily hand over hand
down a rope I go.
Eviscerate me, fire.
Let my flame wax
as I wane.
While my spine juggles fire
and breathes flame,
I am at my wick’s end.

Keep watch.
My wax wells and melts.
Like a trapeze artist,
I radiate heat
and spin.
I am a live wire.
Love lit my wick.
Pluck me now.
Watch me flicker
as I fade.

We love dawn
because it is
so much like
our own awakening,
such a slow stretching
into the light.

Birds fly
with bones
that are hollowed.
This is the hollowing
time, the giving
over. I have
nothing left
to give you
save my marrow.
This is the hallowing
time, the season
of holy. I
can offer only
the blank page
of tomorrow.

What a puzzle
it all is.
Find the right word,
the focal puzzle piece,
and suddenly,
it all fits.
A leaf suspended
in air
floats
towards the dry riverbed.

How beautiful
to see leaves
of gold
trapped underneath
panes of ice
frosted
by the breath
of the world.

The beauty and the pain:
Cold pierces like a knife.
Overhead
a thousand snow geese call
and fly
in uniform motion,
their brawny wings
carving the air.

At your cradle here I stand
Neither shepherd nor angel
But onlooker
To holy mystery.

Hillside cave is the darkroom,
Heaven’s aperture,
Breathing life
From image into likeness.

Eve knows what she lost
When she tasted the plum,
Red juice staining her hand,
But Mary’s consent brings salvation.

At the cradle here I stand
Where the Child’s birth
Transforms our darkness into light
Like carbon transfigured into diamond.

Immortal fire, pierce this darkness.

As a child
trudging through snow
I loved the blank page
of fresh fallen snow,
beautiful in its vast whiteness.
I hated to see footsteps
mar earth’s cloak of white
and when I walked
I tried to fit
my feet into
paths already made.
Yet now I know
muddied steps
through fields of white
yield to the muddied
strength of spring.