Out of the creeping undergrowth of manuscripts
words line themselves with the body of the page
immaculately. Leaving decorated margins
of our modest codex, we ache to glimpse the enraptured
end of the art of faith. In the font's innocent concavities
we imagine bold faces of eager messengers.
At the edge of improbable translation, we are assuaged
by incredible epiphanies cradling
in paperback covers.
Herod's night raiders read
Bethlehem right. The local chapter of Moloch
plots the setting of the star. Mythology
parses into facts: angels, shepherds, feeding trough -
where, in this part of the prologue,
the Death Eater's mother paraphrases His gurgles to the kneeling kings.
(c) John Robert Lee from work in progress.
(c) Photograph by John Robert Lee.