The hour has come. Make your motion
to strike flint against tinder. Spell
the ambered flames of winterberry-warmed
candles. Truss blue-spruced limbs
with a child's expectation. Be-ribbon the sticks
of Saigon cinnamon, the aromatic gift
of anointment in the space surrounding. Inhale.
Hold. Expire, and draw near. Watchfully
await the extravagant gesture of Gabriel, herald
of the greatest show on earth. Bow your head
low, incline to accept the red-bowed wreaths
of ruah. Feel the rush in each lung, searing
inside, the way sunlight burns the moon's face
pale into the blue of another new day. Admit
your eyes within the clearing sky above. Anticipate
the pinpoint pillar of flickering light soon
to dazzle the heavenly home and rise bright as monks'
sweet voices, their chant of Veni, veni, Emanuel
trailing the midnight visit to the parish stall.
Breathe in spiritus. Fill yourself with ruah.
The breath unseen in silence keep. Holy announce
it. Ever after in wonder gladly sing.
© 2010 Maureen E. Doallas