On Christmas Eve, waiting at a train station
passing the time breathing into the freezing air
and watching ephemeral curlicue dragons
condense and dissipate in front of me.
Beyond the arclit station a field of virgin snow
glowing gently in the hard moonlight
against a blue black sky
dotted with points of light.
The horizon fractured by skeletal trees.
In a moment of perfect silence
a dove flew directly towards me,
and, almost close enough to touch,
turned sharply upwards, hovering for a second
to display its outspread wings.
Angels, I realised,
are depicted with the wings of doves.