Advent – a slow fall into winter.
Bright crystalline stars
crisp brittle plate moon.
In an instant it could shatter,
break back into a dark and dreamless sleep.
It holds, a thin fluttering veil
all that we know
hung upon the perfect tree
an ornament on the Christ tree
architecture of night divine.
It holds, flung into the cold –
a play of fluttering bright lights
strung into dark and holy nights.
I cannot recall where I was when I wrote this, only that I wrote it in 2009.