Advent Embertide: Wednesday
January will be clear and bright, cold
but not unbearable. February and March
are still unknowable.
I fast, almost,
until evening when all fasting
and good intentions are forgotten.
I pray.
Say no to bacon. A spit of pride shines
my soul to a gleam, a glow, and then,
into the gloaming of night’s dark river,
I walk the dog.
Taurus is fierce in the winter sky.
I look up at the moon, blue black clouds,
constellations, galaxies, the heavens filled with glory,
the stars begotten from gas and dust.
I miss my step,
stumble forward, catch my arm
on an oak tree rooted deep into the earth.
The dog barks at shadows, at strangers,
at the dark night we live in.
He tugs and tugs until finally, I follow him home
with hope. Hope, a tether, a season, a star
sought in the winter sky, to guide us
for the dawn of our salvation is on high.