Snowflakes and Stars

I heard the wind,
one grey December night,
and its song was a thousand voices
crying out that ancient word–
the “Gloria” the angels sang
millenniums ago.
But I only thought I heard.
I saw the white snowflakes falling,
whirled by the word of the wind,
driven hither and thither,
feathers from angel wings
scattered,
for a memory,
over the world.
I saw the star, too, shining
an instant in the east.
Then it blazed a trail of fire,
shooting into darkness.
The crescent moon,
coming round again,
is a sliver in the sky,
but still I have only broken words
and no reason why.
My heart's weeping
I cannot explain,
Nor the feeling lost, bewildered,
aching for solitude,
and time to think
the thoughts that are not there,
to feel the quiet emotions
that do not run over,
to touch the elusive something
full of meaning
that's always out of reach.
Yet they are all too far,
can only be caught,
like snowflakes
with your eyes closed, by chance
or providence.
So with only a little hope,
I eke out words,
in a broken, elusive fashion,
reaching out rather blindly.
But perhaps I will touch a star.