Venite adoremus

this evening the sun descends,
a heap of fire, first star-sparks sprightly crackle
over the silent snow-capped evergreen
like vigil pyres of herald hosts,
and all this agony of heaven leaves at last a pink blush
brushed across the westward sky
child sleeping gentle on the earthly breast

advent passes in the window just behind

the computer screen

how simple to miss god with us.