Monday, August 06, 2007

open places left after

If your Elijah comes to me now
with my bowl and jar
You cannot be expecting a thing
from me.
My son and I;
we are prepared to die.

If you bring me hope through a
prophet’s love, all
You shouldn’t shame me when
I dream again
My heart within
has long expected to die.

If we together watch this miracle
soft flour green
oil fragrant
You break all former contracts
that bargain death
My soul loves him-
we are bonded to expectation.

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