Mary says she doesn’t know
and in a way I don’t care
there are lions and crosses
an old man wipes foreheads
apoplexy he claims a vision
in wandering with the other two
so baked in delirium
the donkey shivers for warmth
among contractions in a village
excused out of three candle tiers
splinter wrought by rough hands
nothing had felt so good in years
this exhaustion beyond
fevers to make the goat milk
in such a hurry the adze forgotten
fortitude enough to push them away
a worn cloth for wrapping
stumbling out of broken dreams
a baby’s fingers clasp
baked in a delirium
ReplyDeleteon inferno setting
a barn ought to have
loft upon loft
Hosannah in the highest
Perfectly poised James!
ReplyDelete