Third Sunday of Advent


The sway of the camel's back
ebbs and flows like water
against the steady light-pricked sky.
And the grit of the sand
is in the spittle and hair.
Seers, starcharts, and prophecy
scrapped from scrolls and faded parchments.
These guide us
over the ripples of dunes.
We seek the hinge, the crack,
the abyss,
the apocalypse where this world ends
and a new one is being born.
Deep beneath blankets
we carry gifts.

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