All That is Buried

Warriors cannot stop contemplating exile although they want only to sit

Hand caressing cheek dry eyes closed now because who wants to see

What happened since pottery was buried future hints no one holds

Without the clay handle of jugs we question such redness such brown cracks

So we become cracked earth racked with reasoning an arm flung over our past

What we want is such repose on naked knee uncovered by digging

Dirty clothes need to be washed thinking won’t find forefathers lost tent pegs

But I cannot stop this digging in the dirt to find the thinking Jew displaced

In the tomb of burial gifts we learn slowly alongside weapons and donkey bones

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The Ekphrastic Review