Ripping trees from their roots, and then a powerline down,
The tiniest grace packs this winter’s punch,
The Child born in obscurity, destined for regime change,
And so much more than that.
One way blocked, another opens, through the woods
Soaked by rain, across this forest floor, a sanctuary
Carpeted by molting leaves, everything is change!
These winds are my way now, cleansing and conscripting me.
I’ve waited for this, epiphanous pilgrimage.
When I see the sign, red, white, blue and mean,
I’m tempted to ripping and flipping and I’m reminded
How easily hatred finds an open window and
Settles in sacred places only I can keep clean.
In that same instant, the storm sings.
She sings a wild Magnificat, a howling promise
Of first made last, of rich made poor, a commonwealth
Manifest in covenant, neighborliness and peace.
She sings a bright Beatitude, relentless, unseen,
Mercy in gusts, mercy breathing mercy.
Be not still, O Christ of Winter, O Spirit of the Sea,
But sweep across the face of my deep.
Fall fresh, holy waves, upon every face and soul.
How my heart flinches in this unchecked mystery!
DGJ
12/25/20
Boothbay Harbor, Maine
