The morning is cold,
the moon slung low
lighting the snow
iridescently blue
In the dark, glowing church
red votives flame
throw bright prayers
to the ceiling
Introibo ad altare Dei,
The old priest intones
“I will go
to the alter of God”
and I quickly recite
Ad Deum qui laetificat
juventutem meam
“To God,
the joy of my youth.”
The church is empty,
but still we go on,
chanting the ancient love-songs
to the One who lives
in the flickering flame
to the One who rises
in ascending incense
and hears our words
and becomes them.
