Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Visiting Friends

Fourteen people talked by the light
Of a single candle,
Shared hot tea and slender slices
Of a single shriveled apple,

Shared the grand experiment of faith
In a tiny log hut with a tattered family of talented
Musicians sixty miles off the Alaskan highway,
A short wave radio call from nowhere
At twenty below.

A wood fire burning smoky green wood
Made the barrel stove glow,

New moon, the stars were bright
That night across the Graham river,
Blue glowed the snow by starlight,
I heard a flute with voices singing
Praise to God, at midnight,
But it could have been angels.

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