The Between-Space of Unknowing
(Poem for Advent)
Our weather-eye locks on sky, scanning
for the single promised star.
Augurs we are for the light,
Our Venus hanging on
but dim still —
how slowly she rises
in the heart of December
yet puts us on the run,
how palely she pretends
against the sun's own gestures
precise on the afternoons of ritual
preparation to hold at a distance
what mid-winter's directed once
more must close around us.
For a time our hands are so cold,
our journey so long, unrevealing.
We tell ourselves these are the signs
as we wait, silent, burrowed in this,
the between-space of unknowing.
The press of dark's own chance
to be both revelation and resurrection
we encode in the flickering
of candle at uncurtained windows.
Silvered in shivery silhouette we are
at long last moving to recalibrate time,
called to cross the black-framed threshold,
conceive of our bodies as our vessels
of water and wind, of earth and fire,
four elements purposed, each one one more becoming.
© 2012 Maureen E. Doallas
Below is an audio recording of the poem: