Lost

I am resigned,
ashes of the woman I once was

assalted and surrendering

to the great draft of a life
lived under watchful eyes
of a god who didn't know
how to love
anyone

as much as he loved
himself.

I have become the diaspora
of my own soul's company,
wandering lost in the desert--
alone and thirsty for a retreat

where the bitter voice of warning
learns to forgive

and capitulation
is a solution
my many sisters and I
can learn to accept as ransom
for less than the truth

over strong tea
and sweet songs
are sung at the return
of the long
and darkest
winter nights.

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.