We are shepherds, you and I,
not Angels or Magi. We tend
to our hearts and souls, minds
and bodies, gains and losses, joys
and sorrows, dreams and desires,
regrets, the story of our lives.
Like the shepherds we are, we
are outside the city gates.
We see the star Herod has
heard of but has not seen, hear
the song of Angels, put the two together
and go to see what we can only call
a mystery: that union of the divine and human,
that promise of if so once how
so not always. The murmured
response, “Like us.” How curious
the mark of a cross on the infant’s back.
We see all we need to know,
return to the hills to greet the dawn.