The meaning is in the waiting. —R.S. Thomas
Like a silver goblet, Advent
slips round again passing through heat
and the End of Days a darkness
too searing for the lip. Smiths
engrave the old year beneath
the rim. Tradition keeps memory
gradual. The pedestal base round
as the new year full of what lies
ahead. Is it hope? Or simply
the exodus of this generation
into the flames of the one coming.
–Rose Marie Berger (for Lydia Wylie Kellermann, 2016)
Thank you to Radical Discipleship where this poem first appeared.