[exodus]

Pour me another,

let it froth the top of my

desert-dry lips as

we march—a people

cursed to wonder, 

lost from Promised Land.

From our mouth

pours sand and fear,

our shoes fill with

desire: belonging felt

simpler in Egypt.

We shall see God

someday?

Perhaps--

when our

bones are bleached

brittle by guilt,

                            when forty years

                            restless is up,

when our children

cannot look us

in our clouded eyes.

Does shame come

soft on your open,

praying hands? 

Do the fires lick

your elbows, burn your

bent knees?

Singe my forehead on

hot desert sand,

smoking flesh in my nostrils:

small price to pay for

Promised Land.

I hear it: heart-ache

thumping deep in the hollow

ground echoes all we

lost when we set out

to find our-selves, 

our Promised Land.

And so—forgive us, Father?

Lead us not into Temptation

but to our Promised Land.

And deliver us from Evil,

but straight to Promised Land.

Hear us shout! Our voices raised in

brilliant harmony: we are yours,

yours, all yours!

(just take us to Promised Land)