Sinai
Clattering down an arid sky
Sinai appeared ahead.
All journeys of hope have Sinai to cross
From Africa, out of captivity,
Following the massive windprints and impossible tides
Onward to the land of cattle and bees.
But in the dream there was a brilliance, a shining idea.
What if Sinai were not a bridge of stone
A travail of heat and dust
A crucible of trial
A punishment for all the sins, all, all, and all those to come?
All set in a desert of silence?
What if we could make it bloom,
Awake those ancient seeds
Sleeping in their own sarcophagi
Green it like the old days,
Not just a few brave blooms
Trees giant cedars of Lebanon
Waters running everywhere?
We cannot just cross Sinai anyway,
We must stop, pitch camp,
Witness the stars and grow a forest around us.
Make the place fit for soft footfalls
Gods about their rounds.
In the morning our business is elsewhere.
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