When the dam breaks, the water
rushes in to fill the void,
to swallow the emptiness.
It is like this with broken lines,
one side overtaking the other:
the holy flooding the broken,
history cascading into memory.
The ecstasy of conception,
the soft voice of the man of light,
the star hovering like a halo –
I feel their truth beating in my heart
but see them with crossed eyes
when I look over my shoulder.
The cries of the children, their blood
flowing as a river, their crimson
coloring those brilliant Egyptian sunsets –
I have heard the story so many times,
I close my eyes and I almost remember.