The child to be born
found Mary waiting for him:
innocent as the morning,
unfazed by angels.
Found Joseph—drawn
from so common a lot
who yet so uncommonly understood
how he too must play his part.
And wise men. And shepherds.
These as well—
elected to attend
what came to pass
with such grave courtesy,
such hallowing joy
that for all the erasures
and erosions of time:
all the frittering-away
of a fragile tale
the wonderment suffusing
that sweet hour
still marvelously lingers:
still—even now—
blooms again softly
on this, our air.
For suddenly—
what glimmering
in the dark is this?
What trembling of wings?
What breath of myrrh?
And singing! This singing
that has broken out—
O wise man, timelessly
summoned from afar!
O shepherd, still shepherded
to where they are!
Mary, the transparency.
And the child she bore.
