Emmanuel, the night forgets to breathe
when your silver horn bends the dark like glass;
every wounded star drifts home to your sleeve,
every lost heart learns your name as it passes.
You do not speak—you let the slow note ache,
a blue cathedral rising out of snow;
I kneel inside the echo that you break,
and all my broken hymns begin to glow.
Emmanuel, sound becomes the only door—
open, close, open; I am never less,