Tuesday, April 03, 2007

THE DEAD SEA



We who lived there
didn’t call it that.
We worked the ink
as God works the tide,
sealing it with sand
and salt. We ate in
grace, moved in peace.
What kept us never
yelled or scolded. No
one got hurt. We were
allowed to leave but
who would want to?
Gazing out, the water
in us sang life that
only ended when
forgotten.

Back then we all moved
upon the water in our
minds. I left my cup
on a rock.It filled with
rain. But you won’t find
rain here. This rain
cleanses memory but
leaves no earthly mark.
And when you remember
us, picture me standing
on this cliff as you stand
now, kind visitor, gazing
out at what I saw but not
seeing.