There would, of course, have to be a star
—as there always is— but
only a single star, luminous
beckoning above the merest shelter.
Around the meager dwelling,
its wattle daubed with ordinary
midnight, there would of course be
shepherds, nodding, and music of
sheep bells a softly ringing lullaby.
There would have to be an angel.
The sky, a clear intoxicant, would
open and the angel would sing
and the shepherds, keeping their sheep
would have to spread the word
and be certain.
–Originally published at: Every Day Poets (Online) Dec. ’08