I.
I forged myself from knotted wind,
from sky-born flame and sun-laden cactus flowers
sweetened with winter rain.
I have devoured the heaven-baked bread
scattered liberally by an unseen hand,
and I have marched step for step in the counsel of your angels.
Until now.
II.
Jericho stood in cold calculation,
his steeled eyes gazing over a galaxy of star-speckled sand.
I am blind.
III.
Seven years I circled you,
screaming silence at your wire-tipped walls,
the Covenant crushing my shoulders,
breath barred by agony, a sandpapered throat.
The cry came softly, a welling groundspring
released from cracked lips while the trumpets
bawled their brass refrain. I shrieked, stood,
waited for your holy citadel to crumble,
quaking in empathy as your walls shook
And Jericho stood.
I came tumbling down.















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