Christmas Eve

At the pageant
the children,
sweet angels
and star-struck shepherds,
process like they own this sacred space,
resolving themselves,
with simple words and heavenly voices,
helping us to find the balance we lose
in the daily life of too much work
and not enough bowing of our heads
in wonder
at everyday miracles

like these perfect faces,
drifting in and out of magic,
like perfect etchings of ice
only caught on the breezes
of a single December night.

Wisest men need to kneel here
before this innocent beauty
and breathe the spicy air,
incense of purest youth
untouched by the dirty hands
of those who have forgotten
how to believe.