At midnight, the cantor sings the Proclamation.
In a monastic tone, she situates Christ in history,
linking him to packs of egregious sinners.

Amid puffs of incense, my daughter and her boyfriend,
their heads together, are chatting. The bishop,
leaning on his crosier, attempts to engage us
in prayers of hope. In the crèche, no fence
separates the wise men from the holy family.

Between hymns, the trombone player plays chess,
the trumpet player works a crossword puzzle.
We end with “Joy to the World.” A few music lovers
applaud the new organist’s recessional.

Collapsed in the back room of the cathedral,
the director thanks the choir
as we walk into the night.