The Boy Jesus When Not Working in the Carpenter Shop
Unthinking grace is like a child at play.
The hummingbird in hover, April flight,
Does not consider gracefulness in sway
Of gorgeousness or whether beauty’s height
Is being skated through the blossom air.
The cat who carves with sexy steps on lawn
His path does not conceive a convent’s novice prayer
That floats above Jerusalem’s Christ dawn
Beyond those gem foundations, or bright ways
Where saints will walk and not fall through sheer glass
Gold paving. They will walk past chrysoprase
Far greener than those paw prints on that grass.
The solitary games the child makes up
Are held like transubstantiation’s cup.
~ Phillip Whidden