Outside Damascus.
(For L B)

High heart
Trembling in its trap of bone.
Eyes
Opaquely staring.
Ears
Ringing with the fleeing horses’ beat.
Feeling
The sand against his skin.
Sensing
The slow gather of threats about him.

And now,
The fire of wounded eyes,
The day-bright accusation.
Tongue
Not now fat with righteousness,
Articulates a dry rattle,
Tocsin for excuses fled
And arguments as empty as
The tomb.

The last flicker of earthly lust is ash
And dust the taste of treasured praises.
Blood on the winning steel
Has turned to rust,
The feast of self-esteem become a crust
And all joy,
Sorrow.