This poem is the same poem I started writing years ago

just another day; another verse; a word on the page

tacked onto the scrolling river I played with on the stage only yesterday

and the day before that, and today, too, I still write, flowing forward,

the end is not yet at hand; No, the poem continues towards the light

neither trembling nor tottering; only plumbing the depths of something

out of nothing

inspired by Deanna's Advent Poetry and “Sunday Before Advent” by Christina Rossetti