Epiphany Poem by Diane Lee Moomey

No king came riding to the door this morning
dressed in cloth of gold, no magus robed
in deeper thought; nor shepherds, country men
with woolen robes askew from sleeping rough

in fields made hard with winter. None of those.
Nor frankincense. But brief, a flash within
my darkened skull that might have been the light
of morning only, blinds left slightly open,

fog of sleep—but I'll believe it was
the nova of your own, your sweet, verily
your sweet and baby face, smiling,
come to bless in spite of all I'd left

undone. You smiling, saying yes,
we did okay in spite of all. Yes.