A snowman, who wears a vest
with a single garish button,
peeks out from tall trees. Smoke
from a fireplace in the adjacent
neighborhood hangs in the air.
Street lights blur sunrise in blue
fog. In bare branches, a flurry
of dry snowflakes swirls, falls
like grace from Above. Winter
solstices. A mourning dove calls me
back to the prayer I was distracted
from saying. Silent morning builds
her altar on my heart. Then I wait
through three more days of Advent.