Deep calls to deep
the imprint of God upon the ghost of spirit,
a watermark in virgin paper,
a tincture of a whisper
from creation’s nativity.
We too bring gifts to the child –
the twisted gold tinsel
crown for a king,
fragrant candle
for a deity,
the romantic fairytale
an antiseptic for reality.
This is a death and entrance,
a lower case alpha and omega,
the bracketed phrase
in the sentence of eternity.
This is no stable
mucked out and sterile
but God among
the droppings
of mankind.
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