It is nearing the end \u2013<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
(In fact,<\/p>\n
Many years this is the end \u2013)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Of the desert journey.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
We have come far<\/p>\n
(Not so much in miles as<\/p>\n
In consciousness)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
We have come close<\/p>\n
(Not so much to a place as<\/p>\n
To ourselves)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It is nearing the end of the fourth book:<\/p>\n
The Holy Land on the horizon;<\/p>\n
A sun and dream dawning \u2013<\/p>\n
Brilliant rays turning the dark<\/p>\n
Shadows of night into the<\/p>\n
Radiant smiles of day\u2026<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
O, how near we are.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
But, even as these inks dry, blood<\/p>\n
And tears flow down its cheeks<\/p>\n
And streets, pooling in pockmarks<\/p>\n
And potholes, reflecting bitterness<\/p>\n
And scar-struck skins; black smokes<\/p>\n
Of chimneys once skylights bellow<\/p>\n
An acrid testament \u2013 destroyed is all<\/p>\n
That which was constructive; broken<\/p>\n
That which was complete \u2013 trapped<\/p>\n
Between the confines is the vagabond<\/p>\n
Prince living in a cardboard box, lips<\/p>\n
Suckling a paper bag, his crown long<\/p>\n
Pawned at a shop under the tracks.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The journey has taken us from Egypt<\/p>\n
To the Mountain to the threshold of<\/p>\n
The Promised Land; but look again<\/p>\n
And we have long been exiled from<\/p>\n
Our Land, back to Egypt \u2013 only now<\/p>\n
It\u2019s worse \u2013<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
You see, today we think we\u2019re free.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Moshe spoke to the<\/em><\/p>\n Heads of the tribes<\/em><\/p>\n Of the Children of Israel<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n A sticky situation;<\/p>\n A metaphor:<\/p>\n <\/p>\n A tree grows on high:<\/p>\n Let us call it the Source.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n It reaches out. Branches<\/p>\n Severed.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The freshly cut are weaker:<\/p>\n Green and moist, the life source<\/p>\n Still runs through them and they<\/p>\n Haven\u2019t adapted an existence<\/p>\n All their own; one would never<\/p>\n Use these to build anything.<\/p>\n They don\u2019t even really burn.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Then there are the seasoned<\/p>\n Wooden sticks, once supple<\/p>\n Now totally dry, independent<\/p>\n They don\u2019t bend, never yielding<\/p>\n To another force but standing<\/p>\n Strong and proud (if a bit hard-<\/p>\n Headed and insensitive); sticking<\/p>\n To their guns, these logs and sticks<\/p>\n Would build a sound structure.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The Source, the tree on high, is<\/p>\n Heaven from which we come;<\/p>\n The branches, the sticks are we<\/p>\n The sons of heaven and the men<\/p>\n Of earth.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Moshe spoke to\u2026 the tribes<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n In English, the word Tribe is simple.<\/p>\n In the Holy Tongue, Tribe comes in<\/p>\n Two versions:<\/p>\n