POETRY: Saw this tender image on Notes, and realised it was 6th Feb, a month on from the Christian Feast of Kings—and then this poem came.

.

The Return of the Magi

A month later they arrived,

silks stained and backs aching,

to the crossways

where they would part,

on the morrow.

.

The road home

had been mostly a ribbon

of silence, held by the hush

of gold given, frankincense faded,

myrrh remade in their minds

and carried back

through the peril of mountains

and tedium of sands,

the scent of sandalwood 

smoking.

.

Tonight is their last night

to lie down together

as wisdom-seeking,

world-walking brothers,

under wide bowls

of star-feathered sky.

.

Tomorrow, again they'll be kings.

Wives and fields, scrolls and trade

await them.

Sons with their resentments,

daughters with their needs.

How shall they pour holy knowing

over everyday days?

.

The camels are quiet,

the birds hold their counsel,

but the angel who guided their way,

leans low to undo their cloaks,

brush dust from their sandals,

enfold the three of them

in one blanket,

with star-plumed, womanly grace.

.

They lie close for warmth

and sleep, sated

by the call of a cradle,

and the voice of the answering heavens

holding their gifts.

.