no man knew then the hour


nor knoweth it now

even tho Isaiah It announced

and John echoed Him


yet, there he stood, diaphanous, robed

in Trinitarian regalia, ad-

dressing me, 1st ever – Meryemana, rapt

swathed in radiance, sensing

the warmth, yeasty, from within as if


Light emanating


from My Throne Womb

about to burst forth, I


let it be, My maidenheart, enLightened


pulsing, Incarnadine Morse Code

through my veins



Magnificat anima mea   


precursing St. Teresa herself


:  giving what was asked for

   taking what was given

inscribed upon my very being be-

coming, in essence esculent . . .

I heart-throbbed, suffused in delirial luster


Totus Tuus! Totus Tuus! Totus Tuus!


for the Word was made flesh

at last

and it was the Beginning

all over . . .






Fully radiating the Holy


Spirit, our triptych on

her Elizabethan porch stands

empanelled there thus, the scene seen


we three

:  she & hers; the Dove; I & mine


in One accord – of Love Above


while inscribed below, our thrice-

fold litany

fraternitas; unitas; caritas


awash alike in the triune font, beyond

our wildest conceptions, paired

miracle births about to be;


the baptist baptized by the

spoken fulfillment of the Old

Testament’s logos from a womb with

a view to


the future Perfect


with Whom He’ll be well pleased, these

twinned tuning forks, My Son’s struck from

within, juxtapositional


in concerto allegro, sings from without . . .

their mutual adjacent cadence




afloat in their geminal

sacre couer sacs

spring-fed from their Jordanian reservoir


of our Mosaic amniotic flow in

the natal neo-

ark of the New Covenant where

there’s emblazoned upon the transom


veni creator spiritus.


Our pulse I sense, racing in

its Morse pararhymes


:  live, die, rise; live, die, rise;

    live, die, rise . . .


toward the mouth of our eventual

 deltas, and

My Son’s Alpha & Omega til


in principio, consummatus est, futurus in



and so shall be, let the worldshine with

fervor, zest, and zeal upon these


 nouveau homme fetalities!






Thus duly recorded


in the City of David


led along the right path

for His Word’s sake                                                                            


in a stable prepared for me

in the presence of strangers

I lie down on


pastoral straw while


my head’s

anointed with goodness and

surely mercy-

ful sweat drops of blood, and


lo, Jesse

and all the heavenly host

they comfort me for


here the Shepherd is My Lord


as His communal blood runs

over ever

the cup of me with its waters

still, now; forever


in His temple

Me, He shall dwell, all


the days of My Life ( is His )


though I walk through the

shadow of the Cross


I will fear not.



shall I not want?

or was it circum-

  instead . . .
My Sweet Baby
underwent, a prefiguring of

His eventual disfiguring


when they’d try to erase

the Word (in

   a circle

   they’d size

   Him up) although on the day


of His Presentation (only


   the first – not ever the last) the

peoples’ Presence came and

went unnoticed, for

they were


too intent (oh, the fore-


   of His flayed skin)


at the Temple there

they unscrolled Him, signed His

death warrant

and sealed it (not yet with a

   kiss) with His blood


upon the vellum of a Lamb for


ever the teachers of the Law

rarely the knowers, as

only the circum-


scribes and pharisees

doing their usual little dance of





April Fools


the first at eight, the last at



the best perhaps at twelve


when for three


days, how long else would He – no

when He

first planted His minis-


Tree in the Great

Temple Hall and sat, enthroned (Who not

   wholly filled yet

   their holy chair [His not yet

   throne]) and surrounded

by the aged priestly throng; not the first




not the last, but


the best Paschal April, for

not their profane

knowledge, but properly taught for




izing His Messias’

dead rejection, as His Father’s Business

Man low-

ly death, whence He practice predicted the


lawfull led

without an ear to hear, who


will not then, there . . .

nor in His twelfth year, here



by Carl Winderl


2967 Evergreen Street

San Diego, CA  92106 – 1404

619 – 849 – 2417



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