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