At first a sign, as if He were
a common sorcerer: a tree
untouched by fire. But then
He called me: Moses, Moses,
and I heard, My Foundling Prince,
Beloved Murderer. He knew me.
He unstopped me
like a jar.
Of course, I argued: �I'm fool,�
I stammer �� I
will turn your stutter-tongue
to living fire. Put plagues in your hands.
Give you power.
But now
it�s been so long.
My heart's a flute.
My feet are dry as any viper.
My ears are lidless. Show me
the honey-place but do not take me
any further � My Life Itself,
My Living God, Beloved Murderer.
____________________
Better? I really struggled with yesterday's but this came more naturally. Possibly I am more like Moses than God....
But I still feel an urge to do something with that "clear and plow you" poem about the dangers of abundance. In the first free-write it was made mostly of handlettered signs for produce spotted two weeks ago on a drive. Back in that direction, maybe. I thought there was an into-the-desert connection, a Moses connection, but maybe not.
*falls dead*
*gives Kate a copy of the foxglove poem to bring her back to life*