- - - -

i wish i could tell you,
in a way you would get,
the way the sky declared winter
last night:
silver dusted the twilight blue
soft, like a baby blanket in nightlight glow,
until an arrow of geese
pierced the heavens, split them open,
and icy air rushed in:
and do their eyes sting with the cold?
and do they feel my eyes on them,
loving them?

- - - -

and i wish i could tell you,
in a way you would get,
about this little boy.
his parents waited so long for him,
until at last it was time to find him,
claim him, adore him,
and now here he is,
nesting in my hip, and then
clamoring toward the baptismal water,
as if he sees something in its depths
beyond his reflection,
something he can’t wait to be drenched in.
it is as much a profession of faith
as i could hope to see.

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