Before the Red Sea flood beneath a cornhusk dawn
We bid the Elkhorn run to a locomotive psalm
Until the pale horse comes along a rail withdrawn
Clanging loudward on, clanging loudward on
We bid the Elkhorn run until the red cow comes
I was a steadfast son, with thoughts and hooves divided
And on the arid ground of thirsty Zion’s hill
Cold waters tumbled down where the staff of Moses fell

What Pharaoh spell, what picture holds us now?

Behold the snake of brass, the wind was blowing backwards
Behold a golden calf, blighted leaves of Law
O for the land we knew before the frogs withdrew
In the fragrant pomegranate blooms where the tender locust flew

Behind the milk-white tombs, behind the milk-tank cars
We passed the North Platte yard on silver tracks unguarded
Out past the sambar herds, out to the outcast birds
In the rust of open wagons, Lo! the Blessed Virgin’s likeness
We watched the green figs fall from the Nebraska sky
How much were even passive things responsive to our watchful eye!

And let there be no doubt: so many figs and pictures hold us

In the wells of livestock vans with shells and garden sands
Iron mixed with oxygen as per the laws of chemistry and chance
A shape was roughly human, it was only roughly human
Apparition eyes apparition eyes Knock Apparition Knock eyes apparition eyes
Was he a violent man? Well, he had his genocidal moments...
Or penned by fiction’s hand? To whom could that phrase not apply?
How much are even lifeless sounds responsive to our listening ear!
What Pharoah now, what Paroah now, or Jew or picture holds us here?