Publish the Word
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Yeshua -- 2, Conception

In the beginning. . .
was the word

 The Lord gave the word: great was the company of those that published it. Psalms 68:11


ii. the Conception


Wind entered the village in the night,

     into her parents' mud-brick home,

through the sleeping porch lattice, into


the arid, semi-dark where she drowsed

     on a straw pallet.  Her small soul,

the size of a voice, felt the wind's entrance,


its slight agitation parting her lips, air

     moving across her stilled tongue.     

Inside her dream she labored -- was she


carrying a child up a rock-strewn path, up

     through a field, panting, the sky so

expansive, unblemished, blindingly blue?


The girl whimpered, shifted her weight.

     Deeper, the wind encircled her self-

pulsating heart, entered its moist echo,


went into her dream as a whorl of gold light,

     descended the hillside, overshadowed,

enwrapped, she and the child, her own,


ungrown self -- she felt his words stab her:

     the power of the Most High . . .

will come upon you. . . upon you 


on the hewn altar of bone her hips made.

     A cloud, more a haze, hovered, enflamed,

and what was infinitesimal was planted.