'There is No Love Unless There is Imagination' (Andre Tchelistcheff)

She left
with her sack of stones
and one dying rose,
fragrant as Pinot Noir.

Someone said they saw her
on a downtown street,
quoting from a weathered Bible,
drinking from a wrinkled bag.

It’s December-cold.
I see the baby God
come like a crescent moon
to rest in her lap.

Kathleen Gunton is a photographer
and teaches in Orange, California