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?