Snow falls
on Christmas Eve
like a thousand
silent doves
wafting
toward the surety
of rebirth…
Anxious to dust
a churchside creche
with the distillation
of its frozen
tears…
To show
the dubious intention
of mankind
that for once
its stillness
cannot be shaken,
that for just one night
not a drop
of discord
can stain
the Bethlehem
aglow in its heart…
that for this one crystal moment
the rare feathers
of its flakes
can melt only
upon a warm bed of love—
a bed which lifts its vision
toward that one brilliant star…
a star that seems, once again, to shine
so very far away…
Check writes from North Wildwood.
