67

After Meister Eckhart

Who is this Jesus

born in us?

The ape, straining erect, lost

its adult-defining hair;

and sapiens, by the brain’s serpent beguiled,

is almost as bare

as an infant child.

How age-old has our flesh been his host?

Neotonous as body, the ghostly soul belies

a pat standard for maturity.

The more we leap

towards, the more change it sows,

and the more we reap

the more soul grows.

A vessel growing as it is filled

never can be full.

This Jesus of no dated claim

has no name.

Somewhen—unknown, willed yet unwilled,

indefinable—

still, He came.