In the midst of the sermon
The undignified prophet,
Ablaze with unclear thoughts,
Rose up from his pew in song.
When he had come first to the temple,
parched, face streaked white with clay,
The priest poured him wine, brought him up
from his knees.
Silent in prayer, the prophet estimates
His time of reckoning is soon.
Any day now,
The priest shall turn his back,
The temple shall crumble like brass in Jericho’s palms
And the prophet never again shall sing.
