Seeking Even the Smallest of Signs

First they pulled from the burning a miracle, then a mistake. The Lord will lift them the priest with the grief in his eyes cried. Lord, what blue eyes bound there, what hurling, diving, shining, burning — reason surfaces and sinks, sinks and surfaces. Dawn without sunrise. Gray. Purple. Her Majesty in mourning. Her Majesty the warring. In the double house of  life all this was repeating itself, Naneferkaptah had already himself lived Setne’s story. When the rains began the teams with two-by-fours found the going treacherous as those in the desert found the food wretched. They prayed to the golden serpent on the staff to save them. And the serpent stretched itself tap, tap and became a hymn, white-throated, rising to give itself up for the good of the chosen ones. Mother I remember the buttons on your dressing gown. So blue and beady-eyed and true, when did I begin To fear them. The world now not so round with us. Velocity threatening to meet, to marry density at every corner carrying carrying Who can see the writing on our foreheads almost wet still Who can see tap, tap algae bloom beneath the board smoke from the sky Tell me if that is a hand if it is human what will it speak