It is said the animals speak on Christmas Eve.

And so,

I slid my hands over the landscape of his body

And listened.

He did not say to me,

I am the moon.

Waxing and waning.

I cannot be grasped.

He did not say to me,

You are the clouds.

Coming and going.

You cannot be stilled.

He could not say these things.

My heart would have burst into a thousand stars

Right there in the darkness.

And so,

His warm breath swirled into my ear

And said,

The hay is good.

My water buckets are full.

Be with me

Here now.