The dog from Corpus Christi appears bemused 

by the still-falling snow

Cold to the paw and to the scruff 

he shakes his mane as if to say directly

This is no fun 

No warmth in the cold, in the dark 

as the boy worries about the man outside

Trudging through the storm

I know this:  we cannot save ourselves 

We have rifled through both fervent prayers and familiar hymns

The angel appears

Driving a jeep through the dark

Willing to detour for us

Make salvific suggestions apologetically 

As though we could ignore our perilous need for rescue

Push us up the hill and tell us the direction home

As snow falls all night on the mountain 

We hold each answered prayer

snowflakes in our hands