Nativity

"We are all meant to be mothers of God, for God
is always needing to be born.” ~Meister Eckhart

Wise One, drop the reins
and let the camel lead you.
Follow the rising falling animal
in your chest.
To be wise is to be guided
across the wordless desert of prayer
to the birthplace in the valley
of your missing rib.
There the Unspeakable answers 
in the odor of fur,
the gesture of a tiny hand

releasing impossible beams
into the face of the lady
who gazes down into the straw
through the half-light of amazement.
Her silence is immaculate,
her heart is the fecundity
of emptiness.
Her void is moist with stars.
Prior to conception
She gave birth to light,
joy and sorrow mingled
in the milk of her nipples.
Now the one who cradles
all the whirled
has become your breath.
What can you not say?