Publish the Word
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Yeshua -- 11, Lord

In the beginning. . .
was the word

 The Lord gave the word: great was the company of those that published it. Psalms 68:11


xi Lord of Nature


As a young man he swam in a surf of air

     warmed by sun coming down

from the hills, or the sea if he swam out


past the rocks into green, into gold

     the sun laved on the water; or if

in the river, wading in pockets of air


rising warmly in summer, at the close

     of a late August day when he lay

on the rocks watching the sky fall


into twilight, did he say to the angels

     accompanying him there how

mild and austere the movement of air


 as it rose, fragrant, from fields

     of nearby clover, but enriched

if it swirled over lavender, myrtle,


the flowering perfume of the day?  And

     did he engage swallows dipping

through shadow-light-shadow in


questions that flew up to the surface:

     what is the essence of swallow

existence?  The nightness of night?


Did he converse with the donkey

     whinnying for attention, and if so,

 in a language he spoke or said in


his head?  Was he son fifty-fifty or

     more mortal as he grew less

a child, and when his father, inevitably,


passed from this life to whatever next,

     did Yeshua weep, did he wonder why,

if he knew? How tranquilly pleasant


the wood shop at dusk, after dinner, floors

     swept, windows wide for neighbors

drifting by-- see, they might say: the moon

is coming up full for the harvesters.

     See?  Until Jeshua of Nazareth

turned thirty, this may have been so.