John the Baptist

The wilderness is an unworldly place,
In the dust-pool visions dive into you
And swim around your mind. Storms scourge your face
And devour your soul all the way through.
Locusts and wild honey, a fit diet
For a prophet I suppose, still I miss
Bland normal bread, in the desert quiet
I strain to the call above sand-breeze hiss.
Who will he be? Who is this messiah
Who I must proclaim? Who shall believe him?
No voice informs me, a crow low flyer
Goes before me to the horizon rim.
Jordan’s banks are waiting, I must baptize
Whoever is sent to open earth’s eyes.

Print