Oh Mary, I suppose that God could have
Borne Himself to us in some other way:
Release His transcendence as glaciers calve
Their ice; float like a dust mote into day;
Just suddenly appear, self-authorized,
A stage magician pulling fast ones
For a depleted audience, surprised
But not amazed: What else would He have done?
The truth was stranger: Asking your consent
And giving Himself form, He shrunk all Being,
Like Julian’s hazelnut, into your womb
And let you carry Him like a lament
Into the world, an enigmatic paean
To human flesh, which your Word set abloom.