HAPPY IS THE ONE WHO REPAYS
By the rivers of Babylon,
there we sat down,
yea, we wept
when we remembered—
The harper knows forgiveness
as the roaring music
of the river at flood
that owns the speed and speech
of his blood
as he sings down the rain
standing in the dry riverbed.
The god gives the harper a holy chord
his right hand
remembers its cunning,
takes the harp down from the willow.
The harper stands in the opened vein
of an unveiled threat.
Vengeance is mine,
god whispers,
and the harper hears the whisper:
Walk here, this is the way home.
All is forgiven.
The harper sings,
the ghosts dance,
the rain begins,
little craters plopping
in the riverbottom sand,
little drops dashing against the stones.
