49

ἡ σκοτία τὸ φῶς οὐ κατέλαβεν (or, incomprehension)

Dry bones crunch underfoot awaiting breath.
The fig tree blossoms not, nor is there rain.
The shadow in the valley is of death.
The gravid woman cries aloud in pain.

The field is white but gone are those who reap.
The shattered pitcher lies beside the well.
The ship has sunk full forty fathom deep.
Behind the stone there is -- O Lord! -- a smell.

The master of the house has gone away.
The messenger has had his tongue cut out.
The watchman waits without the hope of day.
And I in silence wait -- and sob -- and pout,

And watch you from the corner of my eye
Like infants wait for one more lullaby.