Elijah took my hand from the dirty peak,
He whispered to me of the future melodies.
“My daughter, safety is within your grasp,
No enemy will cause you ill-manner,
Nor the Devil not cause you ill-thought.
On your sacred palms is a treasure-”
I looked, and indeed there was:
The glistening rays of sunlight fortune,
Within which angels danced,
They praised His name resolutely.
“Messiah, He has seen your truths,
Your black, unfaithful bed.
Yet, look, my daughter, Christ is rising!”
There he was, atop my own mountain,
A rain of gold upon his shoulders,
His distant hands in brotherly caress,
Where His joy emerged from my hate,
Like chrysalis or hanging father tear.
No more Elijah remained my guardian;
My face had come into that of the King,
With His smoothed crease of smile,
We walked away from temporal words,
Whilst Almighty removed the mountain
To a pile of rubble at our feet – my rubble,
Over which I could walk, changed
Through prophets’ hope
And the holy blessings of unfailing love.