Into smoke. The creek compressed
Itself to an unwilling path of stone.
Its stain lined the valley’s span.
Lamb’s quarter slumped in the lane.
Then, in an afternoon, the sky grew dim,
Trembling with an ancient hum.
In the pool of Siloam
I wiped my useless eyes of grime and spit.
Let the ears unbuckle, and the eyes unbolt.