a diving bell, seeking the half-size creche
nearly buried in the Gothic alcove.
Kneeling cattle, lambs, shepherds have been
called home. Three kings have been deposed.
Joseph breathes through his nose above
the leaning drifts, bewildered as the rest of us.
All the way in, against the frozen door,
the child and his mother cannot stop smiling,
centered by the hushed and glowing snow.
INCARNATE
Embody
the great dream
God dreams into skin
tight with muscle,
bone, articulated ribs,
all flesh into desire.
Place
your intention here,
beside the presentiment
of warmth I formed
watching you slap snow
from your wool hat.
Press
your cold cheek
and smile
on mine.
Christ
enter your lips
through mine, a prayer
love calls forty years
of freeze and thaw,
naming as we go
God in the going
on.
Speak
through fingertip and kiss
the word for being
here and gone.
Put your hand here,
Thomas.
I am so cold.
Transcend
the isolate, lips
full on the mouth,
warm now before the fire,
tiny lights, cedar smell,
still clumsy with yearning
after all these years.
Kneel
beside the straw
and figurines, hearth
with andirons
cold as snow,
black bent nails
driven into the fire
that never fails.
Listen
to one whisper
above the choir on the radio,
the splash of wine,
windswept sleet and snow
against the window.
Come
to bed, says the spirit,
mouth full of kisses
in the darkness.
You are home.
Come closer.
The storm rages.
THE POWER
Snow savages the highway
with silence.
Where are the speeding cars
and trucks full of gears?
Where is the road?
Where is the lower yard?
The back porch stairs are gone.
We peer through windows frosted
with breath and our separate
reflected selves.
The ancient temptation
surrounds us. Alone
in our snowbound house, we look
without seeing. How natural
to be afraid.
The tree will not light,
nor the window candles
no traveler would see anyway.
Their blank bulbs are dead
to our rhythmic breathing.
Like half of those we love.
They are never home anymore.
Their decorations are boxed
and forgotten. It is too cold
altogether, and we are snow blind.
Our breath is visible.
Wind moans down the chimney,
leaps with feral eagerness
onto the side porch.
You squeeze my hand.
Our mantel crèche is lost
in shadow as if the child
were never born. The ox, sheep,
camel and kings stare
into the darkness to find him.
I remember years ago,
the cabin drifted
