Bethlehem

They come, come faithfully to behold him, three kings and their harems after three nights of fasting, coated in an afterlife of sweet confection. But the star is dim in the baker’s eyes. Camels and a roan forever near the marzipan manger, and in the otherworldly glaze, danger is as heavy as a sepulchral stone. Indeed, no mouse made of raisin can budge still eternity to suddenly move a disfigured nostril or candied hoof. And the unborn child? How long can it fudge salvation as sprinkled-white Mary waits for all that’s to come to never take place?