poem: december 25, 2022

spellbound by sunsets and Christmas, I crouched
by the window of my old bedroom, overlooked
a field spilling over with weeds, then birds,
breathtaking to behold, as they winged their way
out of the west and I wept
for these messengers, heaven-sent,
who herald presence: the Lord
is here, is holding what he has made,
is holding you and me.


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