daybreak is a blue receiving blanket
edged in baby pink, tucked tight
under the chin of a world that was
up half the night, wailing.
all is calm, tender and mild,
damp, glittering.

then out of nothing
a silver thread appears, streaks the sky
and hangs for a long piercing moment.
an airplane’s hasty journey?
or a lightning strike, frozen on film?
     (I can almost believe we are standing so still)

I’ve never had to decipher the dawn.

I’m disappointed to see
the rest of the cloud come into view,
edged in light, because
if this is the dawn of redemption,
then that sliver is the sky torn in two,
not like a garment rent in anguish,
but like a peek beyond the curtain
where truly, all is bright.



Silent night, holy night,
Son of God, love’s pure light;
Radiant beams from Thy holy face
With the dawn of redeeming grace,
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth,
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth.
--Silent Night

I was also thinking about this line from the bidding prayer in the Service of Lessons and Carols: "Let us remember before God all those who rejoice with us, but upon another shore and in a greater light, that multitude no one can number, with whom, in Christ, we are one forevermore."