with holy light my windows
burned full bright
and I, peeking through,
found a glorious sight.

every impurity of old
forgiven for hubric sham
made dazzling white
as if by the blood of that lamb.

blowing snow from the trees
you hear it coming loud and plain
the wind dressed in snow dust
scurries by and down the lane
seeking out the lost to
devour them whole
before the dream melts
and wilts before old Sol.