Three men (dark-eyed) at th’fire’s edge.
A crossmaker – Yesh’wa constructed th’means by which the legion stamped impeer’yul boots on his own people.
Silent morning. Earthly peace. Servant girl re-swaddles.
Soundless stands each stretch of houses.
Bayit-Lekhem in wintrous calm as coarsest night kills evening.
Sometime around two thousand years ago, somewhere within that place just beyond the northeast of Africa, to some family unknown and unnamed, a child is born.