No snow tonight,
the air stands vibrant, crystal sharp,
expectant, as if waiting for a bell, or gong,
some resonating sound, to summon our attention
to this surrounding cosmos. The scene above
is strewn with light, an encircling atmosphere
that sings – resounds this holy night – of grace.
This is a grace of majesty, sweeping wide
across the firmament these sheer rivers,
swirling currents, vast seas of circling brightness.
But also, at this festival of light unveiled, an inner,
deeper grace of mercy at the merely mortal shining forth
before the royal presence of the gentile kings,
the awful tribute of their gifts.
My urgent terrier tugs me toward warmth and sleep,
ready for rest, enveloped by this scintillating splendor,
enfolded in a radiance shed far beyond
all human power of seeing, praying.