Nativity

In damp

and low-lit

basement, blessed Mary

lies with soiled veil,

straw like

 

golden

shadows, still

throughout the warm-bent night

the glint of new, the

infant

 

shrieks. Morn’

arrives in

sick malaise and milky

cloth more sour than sweet.

Joseph,

 

lost in

joy, greets men

with dusty lambs slung o’er

their broad and weary backs,

forgets

 

his sweat-

torn maiden,

body labored hard, who

wishes only some

sweet rest.