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
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.
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.
