Elijah

The raven mocked the wolf
In telepathic echoes,
In impervious communiques
Bounding off the sandstone
Walls north of Baal.

Bible black carrion and hummock bread –
Each taste a feast of denial, turning thoughts
Of candle oil into acetylene joys
For twenty centuries of drought.

Elijah communes with the One,
Dodging white-hot torment at noon,
Gouging on locusts, batting away
Frisky cave bats at night, shaking,
In silence at snakes that crawl,
Bleachy or blue at until dawn,
Until they are tranquil at dusk,
The calm of heat, brighter than neon
Red, rising at the first spark of stones …

There is smoke and fire enough to eat
All of the grey devils, their brains,
Their wisdom, their greasy flesh,
Feeding electromagnetic energy
Into a second millennia.

Coulda been a habadasher.
Coulda cut stone.
Coulda built three temples
To overshadow the lost innocence
Of the three-fingered whore.

Longed but did not lust. His only error
Was trusting the raw earthen crust.
He could have done better
If he was just one of us.