written by RAINA JOINES
‘He is a call to the heavens, an open mouth, the dry earth thirsting to receive the rain of heaven.’ —Bulgakov, The Friend of the Bridegroom
Like a golden lamp raised at the desert’s edge, his fiery eyes flash from the horizon. Black sand glitters in the blinding beam. Locusts leap to join a buzzing swarm, falling before him in winged offering. One fist lifts a glowing, close-knit honeycomb.
Just as bees thrill at the flowers’ first wave, he lives hot on the trail he is blazing. Nectar flows fragrant down the dust-gloved wrist, drips gleaming beads on burnished, thirsty lands. When we dream of him, we dream of deep water, of holding a face made light in our hands.
Originally appeared in SKR 5.3
Comentários