short stuff

Another short poem of an evening.


excavation

i dig right here
beneath my feet
liquid dunes give way

on knees
with hands
and elbows

grains
running
and fingers spare
grasping empty
earth
fluid air

oh where
my bow
of burning gold
and arrows
of desire,
my spear
of night and day,
my chariot of fire?

what will i do if
digging
still,
i do not find,
i do not find
again,
my tools with which to
build,
build Jerusalem?