we step on bare earth

we step on the bare earth

and have been quiet 

afraid our words would

shear the history

that hides among us.

under empty sky

between us and the sun,

we hear history’s calls to dominion,

becoming the rituals oils,

bottled for the high priest

and his religion.

would the sword, 

the horror of which settles questions better

than it answers them,

be turned inward 

if it weren’t for the immense sadness

of our grieving deity?

we have escaped by hiding for now

in a lush country,

green beyond belief in itself, where

the sweet root calls as birds in

summer heat and peace is an

underwhelming joy,

 

but it won’t stay beyond forever

it can’t, it will on its own,

rise and fall determining

our bleeding needs,

determining the distance between

footfalls placed

the worth of all worths.

 

we have questions to answer

questions unseeming, 

redundant to an old man yet

appropriate to the young.

they would be questions 

heavy with doubt and dignity.  

pregnant with faith,

insolent in a single word: why?