Sunday, December 7, 2008


Outside, through rusted rails, beyond the Palms, passed arcing whispers of windy Pepper trees and violet cloud, 
advent is come. 

Inky and coal-dark, so long past did those three men 
aim for that jumpy star.

How brutal the trails of sand and rock as they hunted for the Child, the Presence, the new Now. Did they cast their magic as they traveled the night winds 
searching and Hoping that the Saviour was nigh so soon to be?  

And, bearing presents for The Presence, Were they the first 
to worship, those elect, those chosen, those Wise Men, three ... there in that 
spilled blackness of a cold and color-foiled night 
echoing forth True Life.

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