Advent

Do not judge darkness; it is something,

not nothing. It has certain

requirements of shadow yes, 

leanings into corners,

tall spectres which appear

forlorn or monstrous –

suddenly they look like giants

crashing their way into a house of woe.

But recall

pregnancy’s warm deep glow

the beauty of holding

what develops in its own time,

what’s to be revealed:

sweetness of an invisible face

set to be known

for a whole lifetime.

Darkness is patient.

It brings forth everything that is,

or is to be, 

or isn’t even thought of yet.

All that’s in-between 

is given grace there,

and tenderly it receives

what cannot yet

or can no longer

withstand the intimidating pressure of light.

Unconditionally

darkness eats, swallows, digests, composts

and grows with minute awareness 

cloaked in sweet moss, 

like a sloth’s fur coat,

providing a nocturnal ecosystem

for what would burn

to ashes under the sun.