On the morning after O Holy Night,

When bleak mid-winter greys the sunrise,

clouded by news and unwrapped wishes,

Christmas becomes a spirit pulling

Hearts made for more than beating.

 

Hearts search like a newborn for the breast

Over the pulse that they knows best.

Hearts skip a beat like a shepherd

Wailing to the wind because a sheep is missing.

 

Hearts quicken like a magi who glimpses a sign

From the heavens that cradle a billion stars.

Hearts ache like all sojourners on cold mornings

Who long to touch skin of beloved back home.

 

Hearts harden like the tyrant who can’t fathom

How poetry changes the world.

Hearts harken angel music that brings courage

In places where fear wants to tighten its hold.

 

Away in the mangers of our thoughts

hearts swell as we revel in the kindnesses offered

This day in the name of the Prince of Peace.

 

Then clinch throats as we recount all the ways

We have failed our truth

And let lesser gods rule our lives.

 

Our hearts leap and flush our cheeks

In the presence of divine wonder that

 eternal and temporal kiss before us.

 

They still, flutter, pound, and then still again

In the space between the light and the dark.

 

On Christmas morning, above all, we remember

Our hearts are made for more than beating

They are made to love

Each

Other

Deeply.