22 Jan The Fast of Flowers

Stars lament, the sun hastens to find his place
Over his bride, hidden, her coat like yearling lamb:
Even I, she says, cannot remain what I am.

His hushing wind befalls her muffled, tearless face
Whose destined eyes, between the dappled fronds can see
Crystalline flakes of grace effacing what-must-be.

Chickadee angels crowd the oaken branch, perplexed,
No prophets heard, no heathens saw the balsamed blow
The thousand years of Paschal flowers held by snow.

Blizzards like dew of mercy chill the mortal hex
And brings the year’s surprise, pure-white Jubilee,
Brought on the waves of the new, sleepy powder sea.

The sun shall melt the ice and frost again shall flow
As molten iron, changed; as baptized faithful know.