written by RAINA JOINES
‘He is a call to the heavens, an open mouth, the dry earth thirsting to receive the rain of heaven.’ —Bulgakov, The Friend of the Bridegroom
Like a golden lamp raised at the desert’s edge,
his fiery eyes flash from the horizon.
Black sand glitters in the blinding beam.
Locusts leap to join a buzzing swarm,
falling before him in winged offering.
One fist lifts a glowing, close-knit honeycomb.
Just as bees thrill at the flowers’ first wave,
he lives hot on the trail he is blazing.
Nectar flows fragrant down the dust-gloved wrist,
drips gleaming beads on burnished, thirsty lands.
When we dream of him, we dream of deep water,
of holding a face made light in our hands.
Originally appeared in SKR 5.3