Was your first cradle
reflected in the rolling eye
of the blue ox?
Were your white swaddling clothes
stuck through with bits
of golden hay?
What was the first lullaby
mother Mary sang into
the garden of your ear?
When your mouth was milk-wet,
did you breathe
on her leaping heart?
Were her eyes
reflected in your eyes
so the reflections went on for eternity?
A dream under a bright star,
angels, shepherds, Persian magi –
witnesses to a carpenter who midwifed a virgin,
a girl who gave birth to an infant king:
the gray donkey prays when he brays
and kneels down under Joseph’s gentle hand
in worship of the God-made-flesh
sleeping in a stable
with an awakened heart
and a human soul.
from Epiphany: Birth Poems (2011)