Leviticus

From God to the sons of Levi,
to Me. I think now I see,
how I've been sowing my vineyard with
Wildflowers and corn, uncovering my
Nakedness, and yours. I make
Sin offerings to idols who talk back, whoring
myself out, a widow returning dishonored to my
father's house, only bringing one turtle
dove.

I wait for the priest in his purple, blue, and
green to sprinkle a little blood here
and there for me. I overflow his table with
my Meat but curl up my big toe, putting one foot in
Canaan and looking back to Egypt; never keeping
Sundry Laws: I can't count to seven. I have no holy
convocation.

It is due season and the rain has
not come, my field yields no fruit. Terror
and burning consume my Eyes and Heart.
Heaven is iron, Earth is brass.