passover poem

passover
Tonight the cool wind
does pass over
around and through my dreams
as an angel of death searching

high blue brown skies envelop the trees like the scenery in an old movie; lips out of synch with words, searching for blood stained door-posts.

I hear the voices crying out
angry for the deaths of sons;
those firstborn, meant to receive the blessing now receive the promise of their forefathers; a bondage none can break.

it is strange that I
should be allowed to pass over
death into life
unlike those before me that
dark egyptian night