A voice says, “Cry out!”
And I say, “What shall I cry?”
Barren trees upon
Frozen mountains, steely blue under
Better: underlings, collaborators,
Tongue-biting lackeys of a Higher Power.
The crow dares, dark of heart and wing.
Colour commentator of things
not his business.
“Ga!”, he shouts convincingly.
A single word from above.
The Word that changes everything?
It’s Greek to me.
Or Dutch, and Portuguese.
“Nonsense,” says the crow, clear as a bell,
“it’s Gobbledygook, the language of heaven, and of hell.”
He lifts his head and laughs.
Those ancient Semites had it right.
A new day begins with night.
The Old has gone
the New is
What it is.
*I wrote this in 2013 when God seemed to be in a particularly reticent mood with me.