Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

...dust thou art,
and unto dust
shalt thou return." --Book of Genesis



It whispers about him in the field,
gathers in drifts where soles light

to earth, tumbles in grit
among the leaves of his cup.

Come dusk, his lambs wander
the rows floured, shake soft

clouds from the fleece, bleat
for him at the altar (and, O,

the bones of Abel cry to the flock
as they do to the Voice as they do

to the father). Often asks Adam
to his fire, "Is it only you and I

and the moths, now, Eve?" He
snatches them from flight to feel

them flutter like hearts against
the dark of his palm, to ponder

what remains on the flat of his hand
when he opens his fist, lets them go.