Evening light

Luke 2:1–20





In David’s town, royal blood
spilled on borrowed floor in love,
least royal, least kingly child or
parents: no fanfare blast
from ramparts, ‘cept heaven’s
above the fields, for some other
misunderstood outsiders more
important than circumstance
suggests. No resting place
beneath a roof or with a door, no city gate
to close against the wolves, who
are no metaphor for keepers
of the sheep – this king’s first
attendants, tenders of flocks,
the literal to his metaphor
when grown this prince will be,
when peace this holy Son
will seek for all, in city,
in field, in barn, in street.

Royal blood, wrapped and wiped
away with simple cloth, no satin,
silk or silver in this story
of a birth to dwarf all stories
of royal births throughout the ages,
with its miracle and wonder,
amazement, praise and pondering
in hearts forever changed as hope
takes them in flight: tonight
is born a miracle – do not fear,
love is nearer than it has ever
been before and it is here for you,
get up and go, and make your way
into the light.