Yet more from the Ur Chronicles
Miriam watches the rushes. Moses
is edited into them. One minute heís
water, then next, heís a Ra-prince, Ra.
Out on his bent ear. Somebody saw
the shootout, the smoking colt.
His own gang handed his name in,
written in ziggurat on serrated paper.
Pharaoh. Nice guy. Firm as a muscle
in a well-tuned stomach. Mister Moses,
he says, youíre out on your elbow.
Howdy stranger, in a strange land
with a wife and a son and also a crazy
mixed-up, flammable bush.
Milk and honey in the fat haciendas
of the Perizzites, thatís the deal.
Rod, snake; snake, rod.