The night before the night before Christmas
Seems already here at noon today
What with a vast low pressure system’s brow
Pressed right down over rain-wet roofs on which
An aggregate of fallen branches stir
The symmetry of shingles on our roof.
Absent all white except some litter of
S-shaped particles of foam blown from a
Walmart bag. Today is trash day here and
Dark hulks of jumbled cans, some upside down,
Mark, with green recycling boxes, that things
Are all quite, quite, quite quotidian still.
Nevertheless, on this the day before
The night before, invisibly but still there
Nonetheless, we feel the season’s presence
In the air—not the humid atmosphere
But instead the spirit’s breath which knows that
Christ’s birth on this our earth is very near.