once it was said
how a prophet searched
for your voice
on mountaintops,
in temples,
by the sea with waves
crashing ever shore-wards,
through a storm
as thunder pealed
and lightning lit
the night sky like day,
and finally
in the stillness of a cave.
i’ve no idea what
was heard (if anything)
and they’re not here
to share
at any rate —
just my still small
voice remains
like that of a child
(but not a saint)
or perhaps a scribe
who makes these paltry marks
to remark
on what feels
so eminently… remarkable.
maybe that’s what
the prophet really heard
that day —
an inner voice
enough to stir him (or her)
into collective action
through your name,
taking a stand
against all that man
is sadly so humanly
capable of?
and seemingly
in vain,
once it was said…
