In the cold season, in a locality accustomed to heat more
Than to cold, to horizontality more than to a mountain,
A child was born in a cave in order to save the world;
It blew as only in deserts in winter it blows, athwart.
To Him, all things seemed enormous: His mother’s breast,
The steam out of the ox’s nostrils, Caspar, Balthazar, Melchior – the team
Of Magi, their presents, heaped by the door, ajar.
He was but a dot, and a dot was the star.
Keenly, without blinking, through pallid, stray
Clouds, upon the child in the manger, from far away –
From the depth of the universe, from its opposite end – the star
Was looking into the cave. And that was the Father’s stare.
From Nativity Poems by Joseph Brodsky