Prepare the Way

Out of season,
A yellow flower blooms
Among the dry leaves.
A crimson fire saturates
The evening sky.
An alien mass
Takes root in the brain
Of a good and faithful friend.
All around us
We seek meaning among the mysteries,
Look for portents, signs
To help us prepare for all that lies ahead
For good or ill:
A change of fortune,
An unexpected blessing or curse,
Or perhaps some awful doom
Beyond our imagining.
Long ago they came
To the fiery Baptist,
Wild and windblown,
As if his flashing eyes discerned
Some path or promise they could grasp.
We, too, seek prophets,
Sift through signs
--Silly, hopeful, mysterious—
To give us sense and sight..
Or maybe only this:
To help us glimpse the sandaled one
Who comes, who comes.