Beyond Beersheba

Beyond Beersheba, a rumour of angels
a faint haze hovers over the wilds.
locusts whir wings, scratch the troubled furze,
Elijah's exhausted in a thorny sleep.

Ghost-generations gather on slopes,
seek solace in strange places
by the graves of the fathers.
"I am no better than them.
Ravage my roots, wither my limbs
in the remorseless sun,
let every sharp step be done.
I crave only the comfort of vultures.
A delicate murmur stirs up the halcyon skies.

Naked bread, the pain of defeat,
a rumour of angels arrives;
rouses, transmits a tender urge
"Arise and eat because the journey
is too great ."