Winter Star
One diamond burns above the frozen pines,
a hole punched through the fabric of the cold.
It knows the old December bloodlines,
the silver myths our ancestors have told.
I stand beneath its ancient, patient light—
it traveled years to pierce this January dark,
to find me small and shivering in night,
to brand the snow with one celestial mark.
What dies, what's born beneath that distant spark?
The star says nothing. Winter holds its arc.
~Stacy Stephens