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Long lost frozen beads of sweat
arise like beads of dew and plastic on
glue-gun-strand spider webs,
my dear.

I brush them aside,
and find you lying in a manger,
like the Christ child, poor and low,
my dear.

Don’t you shiver in the cold,
now that you’ve lost your way,
feel the warm breath of my distant prayers
down your neck,
my dear.

Follow the stars and hear out
the wind singing my song of
warning: come home, and
do not wander in the snow,
my dear.

(I walked in your footsteps to meet you here,
so you couldn’t know I followed. Now I’ve
found you lying there, I think I’ll be content to be silent,
my dear.)

I take you up in my invisible arms, and sing you
A motherly lullaby, just barely audible to your mind.
I take you with me on a sleigh-ride, and when you wake,
I look into your eyes and smile.

Welcome back home,
my dear.