Birth II

A rude awakening
if one has not slept.  Poor
battered body, pain on pain,
too cold, too narrow, no
comfort here.  The curtains
moved with the wind, my
bones chilled, the day severe.

A gift for the day
I came into the world:
blank room
far from home
in tune with Christ
hanging on the wall.

My window looks onto the
garden, the chapel:  two
worlds:  life and mausoleum -
there is hardship here
in visiting, in putting
a toe in nun-water -

it is underground stasis
barely breaks the surface
of the day, all is 

basis only, ugly, things
that don't make sense.  Trapped
in their own world
they cannot see how

lacking in light and love
the roof.  I am
in the stable with him
where the animals are:
dirt floor, hard earth,
no luxury pool
no balm of oil, only

the cold, stars glittering,
the high harsh wind
guttering the candles, blowing
in the door
and the cry of baby pain -

abandoned by the universe
he clings to the wooden cot
laments sight of the
roof of the human world:
so fragile the crossbeams,
what are they for.  He looks
but does not comprehend.

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