I’ve been sleeping in a manger
and exorcising demons from the red dirt
just like the baby Jesus would have wanted
when I look up
I think I see a new star brightening
or a stalling satellite
reacquainting with the world’s weight,
or at last a meteor cathedral
angled in the cold night
like a catfish
I’ve been reading to Blake’s lamb
in a cave by candlelight—
little lamb I’ll tell thee
they’re still dread grasping
for the everlasting garden,
they’re still twisting sinews
to find you in the flesh
while missing your light in the eyes
met in the intersection,
only the children of the valley
see it’s you in disguise
before waiting in line
for some outlet mall Santa
do you know if God put us here
on a dice roll?
is that how you ended up
beside me in this dark?
worship has built a lot here,
the grocery store is vacant
during church hours
and the dry cleaner
blares traditional Christmas music
to his flock,
would it surprise you to know
I’m becoming one of them?
I’ve been walking down to the valley
in my freshly pressed suit
during your naps
I’ve been knocking doors
up stairs of lit garlands
and asking people what they think
of that feigning star
above their house,
commonly, they call the cops
what would their reaction be
if I was guiding the refugee
who was pregnant with you?
would they feed her donkey the faded grass?
would they massage her swollen feet?
I stole some of that stanza from a sermon
I heard in the south
and how do I repay this theft, little lamb?
do I rinse my mouth with holy water?
do I hold out myrrh to you with my unclean hands?
