Advent

In the black
darkness
little fists of light,
glimmering, moving.
They will become
stars, hands, arms,
a choir swooping around us.

In the black
mystery
a spirit, a moving,
a pouring out.
It will rain upon us,
sweep us like wind,
to comfort those who mourn,
to brace the oppressed,
to build up ruins,
to make ruins worthy
of the One who will re-
work the black stones.

In the black
days
the messiah
enters the world
from beneath
the black streets.
He knows what he's
getting into.

In the black
people singing,
a tear,
a cry of hope.
It will become us.

In the black
history of us,
the ruined cities,
little palms of light,
people
huddling,
singing,
looking ahead.
They know what's
getting into us.

December 12, 2014