another poem by Thomas

Here is the fourth Advent poem.

Adventus (IV)

I’ll unstring my guitar, and keep
silence in my fright
at what’s to come: I've nothing to reap
in the morning dark as night.

There’s a mystery fathoms deep
that still eludes my sight;
on my hands and knees I’ll creep
‘till the morning dark as night.

A mirror, crazy glass, reflects
my face of tangled shadow
and light; just one word intersects
our flight – it’s all we know
of the morning dark as night,
of the morning dark as night.

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