On this rock

After Revelation 1

He sits on his rock

in the sun, remembering

the voice, and voices,

the day the blood ran

and the nails pounded.

He remembers the walks

and trips, the night

in the garden, the day

on the hill when the sky

cracked, stopping time.

He feels his bones and joints,

creaking, he sees the spots

on his hands, the gray

in his hair and beard.

The reports have come,

the reports of the others,

all gone before him, even

many of the ones after

him gone. It is the end

of his own life, full,

blessed, shaped, guided,

directed, and when he thinks

the time, his time, is finished,

the dreams come, the words

return, veils are torn away,

a revelation given.

Banished, yes, cut away

from the familiar, from

the smiles, abandoned

to be alone, to die alone,

except for one last act,

one final service, to tell

the story of the end.

When it is finished,

he will sleep in his cave,

his grave, and he knows

it is good.

Photograph by Bank Phrom via Unsplash. Used with permission.