Genesseret

Writhing fish of speckled face talked excitedly:
“The one of whom our fathers spoke has come
again to visit us—he who hovered on the Surface
and we jumped for joy.” Forgotten memories of a
blind happiness, when our cold blood was warmed
and we felt our scales tingle.

“Come now, brothers! Come; let us fly to his net!
Ecstatically let us jump above the waterless plane, always
Careful to stay within the rope-chains!”

On the dappling surface shines a face, a face
Brown as trout, furiously bright as the swordfish,
Fiercer than the shark, and older and kinder than
The grandfather blue whale.

And the turbid waters calm
And the silent silver arrows
Forget that they are more than fish.

The Precursor

"εγω ειμι ο αρτος ο ζων ο εκ του ουρανου καταβας ..."
The Gospel of St. John, vi. 51


Dusty bearded bodies: a million
Lied down hot and are waking cold.

It is still. Further east, enthroned
On the horizon waits the god.

Black tents like barnacles

Hold huddled sleeping patriarchies.
And the mothers crawl out
Quietly with skins to fetch the water.

High above the warming sand, arcing westward with the dawn,
Stately, yet he hurries: god descending to the dust.
He passes over waking hills that glow in recognition.

The adolescent Dawn takes notice, chasing with her playful gait.
Molten rays of golden fury: Light itself bends nearer
Lending contours to his back as it ripples with exertion.

Holy sweat, over broad scapulae running rivulets down his spine,
Glances off square gluteals, convex hamstrings, 
Freezes in the spheric sky.

Dawn catches him. He shouts
Joy and Triumph! He dissolves.
Diffused upon the desert floor
He feeds a million dusty throats.