Advent and Divine Patience
Since we have the time–too much, thick and turbid
Like December sap crawling through a spruce–
We might as well make a list of waiting
And pretend there’s a point to this long queue
Barely moving, from which we can’t step out:
Adam for a mate; Noah in his arc;
Joseph for his father; the entire house
Of Israel, deserted, without hearth
Or home for forty lost years; the prophets
Proven right, uprooted in Babylon;
Generations passing in disquiet,
Anxious for the Messiah’s mighty arm.
But all these years less than one minute form
In the eons God waited to be born.