Nineveh

--washed clean,

thank god--the grime on the walls

dissolved, in the burning flush

of the light, the trees picked bare

the fruit rotting on the ground

swept from the walkways

the silence, in the daylight

gleaming, on the faces washed

clean--

remember?--

the heated rooms, the burning

burr in the cool night air, the

fetid whispers hanging

in the valleys, the dark glances

in the alleys, the distant

shouting, the dusky

scent of smoke and jasmine

echoing across the hillsides

the dirt gleaming

under the hard shine

of the stars, and the sky

deep and velvet

from the lights

--stillness, now

you can hear the crickets

and jackel yelping in the brush

beyond the walls

--we say, there were always

crickets, but we used

to howl louder than the jackels

remember--

that strange night, when the cup

fell, and the slaves sat

like they're supposed to--beside

the couches--remember couches?

and the wine went seeping into the

rushes, to join the fallen meat

and the strings were whining

and moaning, and that man was standing

and speaking clearly,

remember the light on the silk?

standing there in linen

and pointing to the wall

--before the gates broke

before the streets were swept

clean, before our eyes were

washed out, and our hands

scrubbed, and our voices taught

to speak--

--I saw fire burning across

the wall

--tell me

it's easy to make a flame

but where would you have written?

if we hadn't made the walls