Mary, another beauty,
and Anthony—the Bethlehem Babe,
who sings while we sleep,
and cries when we wake.
A giant child made to look
so much bigger than she
could possibly be.
The surprise of spring,
elevated by our high- toned songs
and heightened language.
Our warrior—once copied
by spitting chewed and salivated earth
on cave walls,
a child that—strangely—is
one with all our human thoughts.
She is so still so as to be what she is not,
this creature of the sounds that cease
to seize our human thoughts.
The white noise and the passing accolade.
Ho-hum, another god, another incarnation.