His glory will appear upon you

The streetlight flicks on

in the first dusk, its usual slight halo,
knocked loose by the pelting flakes,
forming like a light cone borne
by snow to the earth
the whole host descending
from lost nations 

from the dark sky
from an unnumbered place
what is a morning
but a sighting of one star
at its rising?
what is waking
but a journey across sand
laden with the last perfumes of sleep?

last night's snow found enough warmth
to coat this tree
from stump to twig
with a thin wall of ice

locked against the dawn
whose light though sounds it with a tone of bells
and all the branches to a thin place 

as if with portals shine:

the glory of the Lord has risen 
upon you
arise, shine for your light has come

the mystery of illumination 

the provision of a place to hold the light

though heavily it wears
on barren winter limbs--
transform this crooked tree 

transplant from a holy city and

the shine of it
the telling of the shine of it

like myrrh

in unction, 

but this gift

of frankincense the wafting

the lift of scent off its burning 
shine-spent 

weightless and unnumbered
the sun will no more be your light by day;
by night
you will not need 
the brightness of the moon; but over you 

the Lord will rise 

and His glory
will appear
upon you.