The muse has awakened me this night
with the winds howling in fierce delight.
My soul is stirred into poetic contemplation
as mystical planets dance through
skies of amazing vision.

I drink the waters of life from a holy grail,
the cup tipping as the last drop of liquid swerves 
downward to nourish my arid tongue

Its sweet flavor extends like yeast through my being
and I am flooding with life like the cyclic 
Nile filling the river valley.

I see Christ as a three-year old exile,
wintering in Egypt, playing on the shores of the great river.
In childlike eyes, he can sense the world's pain,
and he feels the answer in the river flow.

He recalls the wails of suffering in the village beyond
the dunes as he stacks desert rocks in glee thinking,
"One day I'll have to teach them to play."