Monday Poem

Temporal Christmas

the verge of something new—
solstice, sunrise, a comet coming through,
sometimes it seems that angels tend,
stars align, low meets high—-
even ass and oxen gain a sense
that mutual otherness has been pretense,
a tale begins that glorifies the plain,
low things are magnified:
a snowball rolls through time,
gathers rituals, books, saints,
gains velocity, and multitudes believe
God’s entangled now, today–
homeless, streetwise, poor,
an ordinary human’s deified, yet
ultimately is turned away

Jim Culleny