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