Tangled tree lights, memories of Christmas
past dancing along their twisted wires,
dashed hopes and dreams interlaced
with child-happy faces, the aromas
of gingerbread, fresh greens.
*
But memories aside…
as candles, carols, bells sing joy
to all the world these clear, cold nights,
I wrestle with the tangled images
that flash across my screen,
lives dangling from the wrath
of winds, relentless rains,
mired in mud of bigotry and hate,
shriveled up by lust and greed,
unmoored by guns and ranting tweets that clang
against the all is calm and all is bright
for which we yearn and pray.
*
And the Word was made flesh and dwelled among us…
birthed himself into the tangles
of our winter world
to walk with us,
to ache with us,
to lead us to that
someday tree whose leaves will shelter
all the world with healing joy,
under whose calm, silent branches
arms black and white and red
and brown will intertwine, together
bend the knee before the Child,
whose coming sings the promised hope,
a lion entangles his limbs with a lamb’s,
in a never-ending tango of peace.
from the slow lane 