Advent
The year draws down. In the meadows
And high pastures, the green grass veins
the grey. Already the stubble
Fields are green. Orien stands
Another year over
Simple and lucent, guarding the full moon.
Dew descends from heaven
Good pours from the clouds.
The earth wavers on its whirling track.
We milk by lantern light. The shadows
of the cattle are illimitable.
The lantern light knots in gouts of gold.
As the sun retreats, and the moon
Turns its face away and back again,
Following the spinning earth
Like our following lantern
Through the dark, back to the white breath
Of the cattle, back to the smell
of hay and dung and milk,
Back to the placental
Dark in the abandoned ruins,
God goes again to birth.
--Kenneth Rexroth
Charm . . . these nights in Advent, holy spheres,
While minds, as meek as beasts,
Stay close at home in the sweet hay;
And intellects are quieter than the flock that feed by starlight.
--Thomas Merton
