“Hush. The wind sings a hymn.”
“Nonsense. The same wind, hot and thick and dry
As wool in summer on my skin.”
“Listen.
No rush of river of gush of streams.
Such gravity as I’ve never recalled.”
“No gravity but holy dread. No rain, not a trickle.
The Sun hardens the land as wax before my eyes.”
“And the Son breaks the wax seal. A revelation indeed!
See the ground traced with cracks
like a book of braille for our weary gaze to read?”
“I see no such thing.”
“Look how the dust shimmers in the air—
A veil for an anxious bride.”
“Nothing but the heat swelling the earth
Like a bellows; we, the unfortunate metal.”
“Then we are forged into some tool for the Lord’s work.
Gold, refined through fire.”
“And that same heat's fused shut the heavens to our prayer.”
“Doesn't the sky shine as a polished, pure blue jewel?
“Bah. The blue mocks me so. I wish the world turned upside down.
Then the sky would be a pool, and the cattle could drink their fill.”
“Do you feel—”
“I feel nothing but a quiet haunting.
A silence as hollow as my own stomach.”
“There’s gruel on the stove...
Anyway, I sense a warm companionship in the earth.”
“Warm!? I sense fire and brimstone.”
“Trees crack as my old joints,
Fences protrude as my ribs,
The winds wheeze and every hinge and gate,
Pail and windowpane, rattles and creaks
as my lungs and teeth.”
“The world once a garden becomes a grave.”
“Indeed, and we will soon follow.”
“And the earth will turn green, but buried we'll remain.”
“Even so, we will be nearer the streams than we are now.”