Below that blue-black sky,
a goat-hair tent collapsed
by a sudden desert storm,
they died together.
A faith test under Satan’s
wings, planned to
seem like an accident,
the storm began in God’s eye.
They dreamed, like all children
dream, they’d grow old,
waists thickened by milk
and wild honey.
Blessed by two fathers,
they set the table for a banquet,
olives and date wine,
not to show one good man
would ever curse his maker.
In Sheol, their shadows
flicker on the cave wall,
prove the Lord’s good will.
Grey Sparrow Journal 