Francis C. Macansantos
The Adoration of the Magi
The child cries out for mother, father,
Words that are vague translations of mere breath,
Mere exhalations to reach out to any being
(Even as vague as God) are perhaps
Pure expression, without reference,
Or, if a verb, intransitive, pure act.
But isn’t such a word so easily made flesh?
Isn’t such a word so readily worshipped?
Sufficient unto itself is the image.
Sufficient unto itself is the meaning.
The word is truth made real.
Dear Child, then, your cry for help
Is like a stone that skips across the galaxies.
You are, as every child, conceived among the stars,
And you are here, fallen among us, flesh.
What act, what word could be more magical, more true.
Leonardo da Vinci, Adoration of the Magi
