Luke 1.39-45

You, the eternal Word, entered the womb of Your servant Mary,
Assumed flesh, therein
Displaying Your great power
Over death and despair.

What manifold grace is this,
That God should freely dwell among men,
Akin to their lowly estate?

The unborn leap for joy within the womb,
The captives return from exile.
This is the fullness of time, where reality
Breathes deeply of the morning air, and night recedes
Before and within the awaited dawn.

Sites

The Dream

I write this as though you stood before me,
Against a backdrop of heavy snow and winter night.
I remember this dream well--
Your hair falling perfectly
Around your neck and shoulders; the snow
Falling around us and upon us.
In a moment you will kiss me, and
I will Discover anew what it means to be in love.
The trees keep our company,
Guarding the silence.

A Refrain

There is a composition of things untold,

waiting to be expressed in unfamiliar refrain.

That which moves one to speak

knows not the end towards which it moves.

It cannot.

Silence, though, is not tragic

unless one perceives it as such--

for to communicate is not necessarily to speak.

Words are unessential, dispensable.