Incarnation

The Word became flesh and lived

among us, body as bright as

shrapnel, love sharp as winter

spurs. I saw the light through

a glass darkly, heard whispers

of stars crackling in His breath.

There were nights the sky purled

with the ache of His absence, 

and mornings where dawn tasted

like a wound, a holy balm in

every heartbeat. I watched Him

kneel, fingers tracing earth's

pulse, each touch a hymn, each

sigh a psalm. How can this be,

bones holding galaxies, veins

filled with echoes of ancient

prayers? He wore our humanity

like a threadbare cloak, stitching

our brokenness into His soul’s fabric. In His eyes, the hunger

of a thousand lifetimes, the 

thirst of an endless desert. 

He carried the cross of our

longing, each step a testament

to grace unfathomable, mercy

incarnate. In Him, we were made

whole, fragments fused by divine

hands into something radiant,

something eternal. The Word

became flesh and we trembled.