The sun beat down and burned the Preacher blind
In those five days he scoured the desert sands
For signs and portents; through his blistered hands
The grit slipped, leaving bloody cracks behind.
On the sixth night he came upon a grand
And solitary rock, eight feet or higher:
Orange and blood-red, like a pillar of fire
The Devil set alight and God had fanned.
The Preacher knew then that the Lord was great,
And split his sun-baked lips with songs of praise.
The light was dim. He missed the trail of ants
That smoked out of the rock till far too late.
Only God heard his screams and watched him dance;
And morning blessed his bare bones with its rays.
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