Nativity

It would happen 

on a purple night, the darkness

pierced by a star ever so

marginally brighter to those who knew

what to look for. Mary holds

Christ’s attentive weight – God

struck wordless by a mother’s love –

and the townsfolk gather

as at a doorway –

in Mary’s blue radiance – impatient

for immanence,

each unaware

of that other star, not silver

but a diamond of blood.