Veni, Veni
Swarming sailors on the billowing wind,
Shadowed, sooty moon of smoky autumn.
The linden tree has shed its leaves.
Now Belgian lace of branch is stretched against a somber sky.
Lake and sky blend seamlessly
as the world winds down into the monochrome season.
Drowsy, we drift in dreadful dreams of doom and death.
Meanwhile, on the dark side of the moon several continents away,
three wise men bearing the wearying weight of worldly crowns
slog through desert sands,
faithfully following a star
to what strange, distant destination?
A manger suffused with reflected radiance from an infant King of Kings,
The joyful end to all earth’s wanderings.
Sylvia Bargiel