In winter, it’s easy to feel cut off.
Dark falls early, sinks in like ice.
Wind licks at neck, whips tears
to eyes, leaves ears aching.
My heart pulls into a tight knot
like a child curling up to hide.
Everywhere the world cries out,
counsels sure-fire plans for crackling warmth
or crystallizes careful explanations
about why heat death is inescapable.
But another voice trickles underneath,
halts at first then picks up speed
like a thawing creek
in early spring,
like an unlearned boy
on his knees in a grove
praying aloud for the first time
at that turn of year when light
begins to return
in earnest.
Inspired by the Come, Follow Me readings for December 28-January 3
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