Just as the bleary eyes of a child
Wait for Santa long past bedtime,
I lie in the dark, waiting for you.
I play in the imaginary sandbox
Of goodness (in case goodness might help),
Until the bright plastic of my
Sandbox toys fades to milk.
I dance in the imaginary light of service
Until I know every weakness I possess.
I wield the puppets of compassion
Until they become awkward, and still,
As self-serving as an antique mirror.
I awaken and find I love you still
Even if I don’t qualify,
Even if Christmas never comes.
