In the Valley
I expect when I get to the valley of the shadow of death,
I will find a whole forest of petrified souls,
A horde of giant rocks as far as I can see,
Crowded in together but standing each apart.
Over their shoulders, straining for the land of milk and honey,
Wishing someone would start the game all over
So they could learn the rules;
Others, stoic as those terra cotta warriors,
Will face forward with their hands still on the hilt
Unflinching and ready to take whatever comes their way.
Some will be massive, silent and implacable as
I think my soul will be small and hard as flint,
A little me-shaped boulder wedged against a barren hill
Where I’ll wait for a weeping savior to heave me away from
The cavernous dark inside which, like Lazarus,
I find myself hobbled and bound.