He took  his knees unto the floor.

A dark man,

Nervous by the words of his first harvest

And his body moved like fresh grapefruits

Juicy with pips

For a First Dawn had come.

And he did sweetly breathe upon the babe’s head

And kissed its newborn eyelids,

Fallen like dark purple Lilacs of a full moon in mauve

Upon this little face

Heavy set in sleep.

 

He blew the breeze of his experience

Over the slight mouth of a rose bud to greet

A gentle space where the airs meet

 

A breath that was of Aniseed and Cloves

And all of those spices

Sent to relieve

A little soul,

Now freshly bundled,

Now freshly done.

A new son.

 

A father’s pride

His father’s fathers

His Grandfathers Father

Yet to come

A place in history

In anticipation of the word

As with every silent babe the moments

Chance suspends before a new statement made.

A new generation

That would and will bleed

Its devotion

 

And so

 

I feel sometimes small aside the many men of Muhammed

Whose foreign verses stop me in my dirtiest tracks

And I relax there, clean for a minute

Sand on my cheeks

In the same place

Where at the same time

the Prophets name was spoken clear

to any given ear, even to mine

 

Because

 

The baby smiled

Like every baby might smile

Anywhere.

But with

A purity sure to seal with the indemnity

Of a nation

These greatest acts of Faith.

 

But

 

I wonder about the blood

And where Mary stood

Crying

Her grief pouring in the mud

Over His feet

Caked in pain and rust

 

And the 2000 years of guilt

 

That will just never be enouh.

 

And I think of a prostitutes

Lips well worn and charred

Kiss His feet

And wash the visions clear 

And calm the voices near

And a balm she made with love for Him

Of Lavender and Rose

And rubbed it in with sweet  Almond oils

Above the din of those who would want a woman stoned

For lying with sinners

For never being sainted

Just loved from an earthly throne

 

Because

 This sacrifice will never be enough.

 One of pain

That rakes those orange raucus metal wheels

Round again and again.

 

A woman’s love is never enough

And barren

She courts only a dove

As absent as the holy ghost

So

We deal in faery tales

And

Familiar

Fucks.

But

There are new visions now in old dreams

Where this ball of mud

Still spins round the sun

Where we are still the same star

Based carbon

Where time has not begun

Nor is ending

Where we live with the same fire and die

By the same drowning

 

We are all born to greatness

We are all born to dream

 

And this year I will not grieve because

 Muhammed's name made the baby smile.

And Easter brings a time that always does

Come round again

Without trial.