“Christmas Hyacinths

The air grows cleaner with each sight
Of words - silver and clear -
Without heaviness and sighs.

Winter closes in on each street,
That familiar place we haunted to keep,
While we hope to seek the dearest near.

Frozen blossoms in trembling hands,
With shadows of blue and grey,
Counting footsteps back into the heat.

The emptiness of many
Is returned in ink and choirs,
With doubt and cherish,
Crowned with blessings all around.”