A Gathering of Mirrors

I am past fifty and wondering where I am going with this.
Hanukah has ended, Christmas is past, Kwanza is gathering mass.
A hundred feet from the trail, the horse barn has the smell of horses,
Sweat and sawdust stained and sticky, mold drenched in snow.
A son cannot understand the reflections of a father,
A daughter asks if God wears clothes all of the time,
And a sister says she knew an angel once: She never wore anything.
Early morning, the resident blue jay hops on its branch:
Glory. Glory. Glory. A wife has an inability to see,
A son combs his hair without a mirror, a daughter dresses in the dark,
and a sister says: I met God once. She was naked before the mirror.