Publish the Word
Your Subtitle text
Yeshua -- 4, Magnificat

In the beginning. . .
was the word

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

iv the Magnificat


My soul magnifies the Lord, the words

     spontaneously burst, of all the journeying

girl, Mary, had borne for days, in her cousin's


embrace, a wellspring of burgeoning life, belly

     to belly, foetal child to embryonic child:

did not every felt first pulse beat out of silence


in darkness -- the wind enlivened willows beyond

     the door were proof, or the lark piping

in upper branches, or the tabby below, grooming,


half-eyeing a scarab beetling by, pinchers clasp

     to a red ant's corpse. What moved them

to move?  The elderly husband stared from exile,


mute eyewitness, recalling the angel's curse:

     he was less full of  disbelief.  His wife's womb

inconceivably blossomed.  The barren, Judean hills


were beset with green.  His mercy is on them

     that fear him, she sang, a simple, peasant

girl in dusty, rough spun cotton and worn sandals.


The child in his small, warm kingdom slept under

     an arch of ribs.  He was a vessel of gleaming flesh

in an amniotic sea, drifting, for months yet, toward birth.