Moses’ Last Prediction (or, Before the Body Goes Missing)

 Listen, Israel,

You live in the phases of the Lord’s cheek—

He who soughs the seas and stirs reeds with the mere

Thought of blinking.

You glory in his survey,

Though you can perceive it only as

A sun wrapped in the gauze of a veil.

Listen, you are a blind people.

You will one day

Revel in the darkness of the Lord’s eyelids

When he turns his face from you

And leaves you to your bird-boned worship of

Whatever wind whistles through your marrow.

See, you will swell on the fat of the land

And revel at the marks of your sweating fingers

As they build false idols for you to worship.

Sad images, you will

Worship your own reflection, that twice-cast

Rippling in the water that exalts the Lord and shames its wearer.

When the beasts turn their fangs upon you

And spill your blood on the earth to settle the dust,
That red varnish will sing its release.