The Water and the Flame (Poetry by Bob Racine)

John the Baptist 

bit his heel into the dust, dug up smoke, made holy fire, 

his heart pumping thunder beneath an animal skin vest.

This

before he came to the river, 

where water flowed richer than fire. 

He took life from the sun, honey from the bees,

defied the treachery of derelict rock, 

serpents daunted by the tip of his staff, 

the ground mashed to gravel in the passage  of his feet, 

birds and locusts flushed from declivities of 

eroded sand and rotted-out log.

All this

before the muddy bank, before he came to the river, 

where water flowed richer than fire.

The house of Herod was rankled. 

Quarry stone cried to quarry stone, 

sent its blasting dispatch to Jerusalem towers, 

shuddered through the weathercock atop 

the Roman governor’s iron gate.

Then it was the multitudes saw John’s great footprint in the earth, 

heard the howl on the mountain, saw the gust of holy smoke.

They watched the unquenchable flame, 

while John knew not, nor did they, that only the river 

could calm the flame.

John heard it flowing, striking fear to his heart, 

buckling his knees into the soft shore mud. 

With his bloodshot eye he saw the stretch of its ancient arm, 

heard its pulse that would never beat at any mortal’s bidding.

He tore from his back the animal-skin vest, 

loosened his girdle, sank his staff into the mud bank, 

as if it were a lance blunted from battle, heaved the sandals 

from his tired feet, and cast his bulk upon the willful waters.

The fearless fish remembered on that day when once 

water covered the earth, as John the Baptist pushed his heel 

into the soft river bed, laid gentle hands into the stream, 

bringing with them the expectations of his people.

All this 

when he came to the river on his knees, 

where water flows richer than fire.

To read other entries in my blog, please consult its website:  enspiritus.blogspot.com.  To know about me, consult the autobiographical entry on the website for Dec. 5, 2016.