I have heard dawn coming for hours now,
rushing down the hills to my door.
The howling wind, sharp with searching,
pierces through glass, singing of pain,
bringing unwanted visitors, yet expected guests.
Naked limbs, abandoned in their rest, lie
softly shuddering, stirred by knowledge of Light close-by;
whispering of failing graces.
Silence creates the minutes' accompaniment
before the day's break.
Before, illumined, I can no longer hide.