Fourth Sunday of Advent


You have hours to think
swaying over desert sands.
The snort of a camel
or the howling of the owl
the only punctuation of your mind.
The heavy ticking of moon and sun.
Pondering time
over signs and prophecies.
Contingencies connected somehow.
This star
she does not rise on her own.
She is caught in a web
pulled and pulling
bringing something into view.
You can feel it on the air
A ribbon of meaning
tracing through all things.

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