The Lost Ark
for God. The air, charged. Within,
only dust. What shall we put in the ark?
Nothing, but the tablets. The gold
flaked away, baring acacia. The poles
broken. We cannot carry it any further.
What shall we put in the ark? Nothing,
but the testimony. The sand, cemented.
The faces, muted with time. Silent. Eyes closed.
What shall we put in the ark? Only that
which has been commanded. Only that
we may listen. Our attention. Our obedience.
Our vigilance. What shall we put
in the ark? Our ears, our hearts. Nothing,
but the testimony. How He speaks
and moves. The sound of his laughter.
The sound of our cries. His provision.
His victory. The walls, fallen. The necks,
broken. The hands, struck down.
The ark, untouched. Buried, unseen.
What shall we put in the ark? It is over,
destroyed, yet not undone. Nothing,
but what is there. Two tablets. Dust.
The power. The sound. Nothing. The dust.
But what?
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Dan Brady is is the author of two chapbooks, Cabin Fever / Fossil Record (Flying Guillotine Press, 2014) and Leroy Sequences (Horse Less Press, 2014). He is the poetry editor of Barrelhouse and lives in Arlington, Virginia with his wife and son.
