Steeped with the bitters of what it is to be
Lazarus Arisen
Who knows what he did afterward, whether
he bathed and did laundry, took comfort in
womanly wine and bottle sweated breath, or a
leisurely walk after what he thought was his last.
Perhaps he was content to sleep, his burdens relieved
at last, his cares undone before a tattered messiah threw
him back into the wings of patient worms who laughed
beneath the mud knowing he would be theirs again.
His sight restored, did he sip the cool nectar of date trees
bending in the embrace of the Khamsin, look with enlivened
lust on the plain wife he’d already left once forever, who
would now know the true weight of his Bedouin bones?
Did he shade in the dry sharav, bask in Sirius’ bright jewel as it
rose in the east as he did, late in the year when stone gives up
its locked streams in sacred tears to weep the desert lush
and ready for this world, for this one and the one to come?
His family, perhaps, brought him food for he was famished
beyond a deathly savor, plates of lamb and roasted duneseed,
great carafes of dromedary beer more fermented than he was,
steeped with the bitters of what it is to be come back to the living.
Joseph Gallo
December 5, 2007
post-time 3:32 PM
4 Comments:
Holy moly Joseph. In a blurred flash, a focused light. The air raptured between day and night...
And those pics!
Dude. You need to write this stuff down, or something.;)
B
B: Yes, or something. ;-)
Sorry Joe. That shouldn't have been anonymous. I guess I have to be smarter than the equipment and there's the rub.
Now do I make sense?;)
Bryan
But I knew it was you, my friend. No one else leaves his signature B quite like Bryan. Thanks for stopping by. This is as something as I get currently, aside from all the other somethings I do.
Please click on Mystic-Lit where I contribute to a writer's co-op blog every Tuesday. Link is under blogword in the right hand column. Ciao, B. :-)
12/12/07
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