When the Universe-Maker came as a babe
into the very world he had made,
his mother counted his fingers and toes,
kissing each one, and said,
“He’s perfect!”
Fingers that had flicked stars to life
and toes that had stepped across light.
Infinite winding into finite,
this babe who was God’s Delight.
When the Universe-Crosser came to his own,
he chose a tiny womb
and a birth into a lowly trough
fit only for animal feed,
as if he were an odd aside.
And Mary kissed his eyes,
eyes that had seen the universe arise.
This babe who had sown
wombs, animals and seed
and made stars, moon and skies,
a God we could see with our own eyes.