Red star of Bethlehem

blooms in the seam of winter.

As legend goes, the same

“Flores de Noche Buena”

or

“Flowers of the Holy Night”

grow crimson

under Season’s kiss.

Carried to the cross

by a little girl with empty hands;

nothing left to give

but the longing

of her tender heart.

And the night rejoiced,

while the Spirit danced

in Heaven’s doorway.

Streamers flew from the sky,

painted lush leaves of green

in contrast.

Emptiness ran over

its brim; fulfilled.

Despair bled into divine-

gratification, while hope

leapt to the constellations above.

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