Advent, day seventeen

She was a virgin, or so they say.

Bishops have been cursed from the pews for suggesting otherwise.

But the remarkable part of the story we focus on today is the virgin’s husband, who, believe it or not,  loved her anyway.

Joseph

A twist of hair breaks free from the binding

Flicks a lovely cheek –

Blushed as it is by the hard sunlight

And specked with road dust

– a sudden breeze sets it dancing

It is all too soon

I am not yet used to softer things;

The nape of her neck, the heady smell of her

Like earth after spring rain

And she, all but weightless in my arms

She shifts in the saddle, moans gently

I start towards her, but despite myself,

recoil

Heart-heavy from the bulge of her

This flesh of my flesh

Seeded by some other

So I take the reins and walk on

But wherever she goes

I go also