21: Sacrifice Moses

She did not know where they took her

in her precious white coat. We did not

know where she went.

They laid her down in gold and slid the blade across her neck.

In cheers, her eyes receded

and the bearded, anguished man spoke

from the mountain with his beloved slithering stick

aflame,

with more than any man could carry

in commandments; his hand parched leprous-white

under their weight.

God danced a mighty threat on the mountain's head.

He stood under lightning in black smoke;

burning bushes spoke

the heat we turned away from;

and in the back of the crowd,

to hear his words, in fear

of the creation here, there

came a gaseous tune, a mountain sigh so acrid,

hissing:

What a game he plays with his voices.

We have seen a storm before.

Whatever he hears, we cannot.

Unless God's voice, was in the lightning, unless his

form stood in that smoke we could not look upon,

the stones were the work of the old man's fingers, knotted

knuckles, broken nails and all.

These commandments are guessed,

cut by the charlatan; killing beasts

at the foot of our gold,

a human must play the part.

- blood on the ground has long since turned into water

enough to fill the Nile -

His leprous hand flushes with life.

No matter, at his promises

there will be someone to buy

this golden calf

and we will use those commanding stones to

sharpen our new knives.

Get behind me! I say to the air. And the man

on the mountain carves me

in a glance, out - and into God.