A Poem for Christmas Eve

In Too Much Light
by Jessica Powers

The Magi had one only star to follow,
a single sanctuary lamp hung low,
gold ornament in the astonished air,
I am confounded in this later day;
I find stars everywhere.

Rumor locates the presence of a night
out past the loss of perishable sun
where, round midnight, I shall come to see
that all the stars are one.

I long for this night of the ornament of the stars
when days of scattered shining are my lot
and my confusion. Yet faith even here
burns her throat dry cries: on this very spot
of mornings, see, there is not any place
where the sought Word is not.
Under and over, in and out, this morn
flawlessly, purely, wakes the newly born.
Behold, all places which have light in them
truly are Bethlehem.

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