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An Advent Night

These cornfields lie fallow now
with their charcoaled earth folded under.
A firmness has settled deep
where the cold rains prepared for winter.

The farmer walks a slow amble
to the hay barn where three cows
stand huddling in their silent vigil,
feeding under the quickening of dusk.

The long cold night nestles in
full and deep.
Stars and indigo
above the field of wounds
where tonight

my needs are cradled in a cup of silence,

offered throat-high,
my heart and my tongue.

Flesh and spirit mingle
under the grace of this night and
the barren trees sing for
the Bringer of the Dance
to come to this garden of longing.

In hope I wander the fields,
waiting head-bowed for
the birth of the One
who will bring a dawn
to end this deep, holy night.

By Michael Dallaire