Many months we swayed over sand and scrub.
The camels got ticks; our bodies got blisters.
Twice, bandits robbed us of coin and food,
but the treasure under our saddles
was well hidden, destined for the One we sought.
A curious nova lighting the heavens
spurred our trip. The fluting of the wind
and shuffling of broad, flat feet comforted us,
but not the skulls with empty eyes
in the rocky desert. Checkpoints manned
by surly Roman conscripts did not deter us.
In Jerusalem, Herod’s dark eyes narrowed
at the mention of another rising ruler.
We continued on to find the star above a house
in Bethlehem. The mother smiled. The Child waved
his right hand toward us. Dust danced.
We prostrated in a, presented our myrrh,
frankincense and gold to the King of the Jews.
A dream of swords and screams warned us
of another way home; our path changed.
One starlit night, surrounded by bawling camels
and campfire smoke, we murmured how we ached,
how we had journeyed from death to birth.
