Those two words almost always calmed their hearts,
it seemed, their storm-sea eyes glaring at first,
then easing to wary focus. They’d start
to trust him when he’d say “savior,” their thirst
for safety briefly quenched. The young virgin,
her soft hair a flowing ocean, had stared,
nodded and whispered. Startled shepherds, when
told of Bethlehem, had simply walked there.
Those three silk-robed men he’d watched for decades
gathered gold, myrrh, mounted camels and rode
west. Humans were easy, really, once stayed
of fright. He felt the desert wind, how cold
it could grow at night, turned and studied those
far stars. Then he spread his vast wings and rose.
Roger Armbrust
December 10,
2012
