Count the Stars

Old Abram,
bent and tired,
woke with a dream
that stirred him
like a promise,
a flash of springtime
in his wintered flesh.
Shuffling to the door,
he stepped outside,
where his restlessness
would not awaken
his sleeping wife.
Suddenly
it was as if a father's hand
slipped under his chin,
lifted it so that he could see
a glory of stars,
scattered like joy
in the silent heavens.
"Yours!" a voice whispered.
"Yes," he answered,
feeling tomorrow
rising in his bones.

--Timothy Haut, Lent 2, 2013