In the year of our Lord was a great hush;
400 years since He’d spoken a word.
No man or woman had felt the great rush
of His wind, fire, quake, nor still-small voice heard;
no prophet with pen in hand was carried
along by His Spirit, but sat unmoved
to speak from fathers to sons—sons were married—
had sons of their own—still no words to prove,
dreams to interpret, no visions to explore.
Just the round turn of the world. Sliding of stars
through the sky. Crops to plant. Crops to store.
All was silent as night, night was quiet as stars.
Then the Word that began it all went to press,
And the Word that was Light, that Word became flesh.
Cover image by Federico Beccari.
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