This dark is the place the light is becoming; We kindle each fire on the paper we wrote, standing still, but still running

Flames licking stones of verse; we write only in reverse, finding gaps through which to leap, the day is gone now, find sleep

then, we find home, here in this house - blind but buried and burdened; the glow of each line refracting all we can know

— inspired by Deanna's Advent Poetry and selected lines from “Altars of Light” by Pierre Joris