Advent Sonnet

Inspired by the story of Abraham and a little backlogged in paper-writing, I hope this poem can do double duty. Tell me the first word that comes to mind after you finish it. 

Hemingway Sights the Incarnation

When I saw Christ seated at the right hand

of his father, he was buckled. He flew

down a fresh-paved interstate. The Ghost read

from the backseat. They came to my tent. They

knew me. Would they eat a piece of game? We ate.

They said a son was due. That if my books

had women, one might laugh. They left, of course.

I shot. They spun, crashed. Not quite procession,

union. Three for one. Was that it? So long

a life that we owe God a death. I flushed

at flesh pinned under form, but they had gone --

leaving books and words behind, only signs.