W
ord who birthed the starfields
births on a stable floor,
vowels that ignited a cosmos
running the veins,
The Word made firm flesh,
with fingers to cut out
the hearts that lie rocks in our chest walls,
and to set into our hard emptiness,
hearts of the pulsing, pulpy flesh,
hot like His,
this God on the ground in the dark,
wet with the womb waters,
with muscle and red-blooded pulse
and a kiss of communion
on His sacrificed
lips.
God in the flesh…
A blessed, hallowed Christmas…
from our hearts to yours,
Photos: my mama’s nativity
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