Rift

I am no goat, ram, or heifer—meat
placed on left or right, cut
in two for you to walk through.

You’re smoke in the eyes
hiding my lying next to
never severed,
never a part of that Red Sea
you could plunge into.

If cleansed from leprosy,
the Law demands
a priest to see the skin
then slay a bird
over an earthen vessel

collect the blood
dip hyssop then
sprinkle.

Can it be that simple?
Slit the neck
to turn blue sky scarlet—
tying a thread from me to you
like an eternal covenant, like a thought

I thought I understood, like a string
holding tight to a slammed door’s doorknob.
Toothless and without flight,
am I the unbroken broken—
a mourning dove awaiting

those flaming torches in the garden at night
or maybe, maybe the morning light
rending the horizon?

Copyright © 2020 by AJ Saur, from Say the Word (Murmuration Press).