To Milk and to Honey: Death in the Holy Land #2

Bromine-violet, or a plum-purple bruise,
The splash of the Dead stings my eyes like a bee,
At the edge of the dock, my eyes start to focus,
I see Jordan lying out in front of me.

A block of green upon the dense, thick water,
Mineral upon limestone, wildflower beneath salt,
Sand dunes peering over the waves.
I remember the separation and what I have been taught:

To milk and to honey in this
uncommon land, to the ones who have died,
the ones who have given me life,
the sweetness of the Chosen,
the lilt in the language,
the burden I carry,
the struggle and strife.

With the silverness of Arab prayer and
The darkest wine of Christ's blood,
Inquisitive black of Abraham's eyes,
Whenever the peace can dare to come,

I pray for the strength in this single moment,
I pray for the strength in this only way,
I know in this second that a calm will be coming,
This is older than any deity.