Advent in the Time of Covid

Bright sun nudges me from my page,
opening a hole deep as the grave
in the worn carpet.
How can this season of joy
and wonder, innocent delight
be lived in such a time?
When death stops at so many doorways,
uninvited and rude,
taking the good from so many tables.
We light a candle,
keeping the darkness at bay.
It’s Advent in the time of covid.

November Morning

Its not withstanding the urgency
of breath and feeling,
molding into those things which
we say and do within our masks,
hiding in each moment.
But there are times,
when letting guards down,
we recognize our real faces
and wings unfurl
in the cold light of a November morning.
Wedge of deep silver
shadowed against the breast
of stone and water
opening isthmus arms
crux of land and sky
embracing water, earth deep,
bronze and gold, russet, indigo.
And leaving the warmth of bed and nights embrace,
I stretch toward the dark dawn,
aware of all mortality and grace
and the singular thought of ones life.
This too shall pass and like the meadow grasses
separating grain from chaff,
my soul will someday join the autumn wind
and sing shining into the cold morning.