Zechariah wanders in his longing
Even as he cherishes his state.
Choosing reason rather than belonging,
He feels the pathos of his complex fate.
A modern prophet must be only human,
Relinquishing the myths of god and tribe.
In visions passionate, he must illumine
A glory that needs neither faith nor bribe,
Having a domain he can describe.
Zechariah lets go a long-held longing
Amid his contemplation of the race.
Chastening a tide of heartfelt yearning,
He goes to some quite ordinary place.
As life unfolds, he dances through its shadow,
Redundant as a grain upon a meadow
Yielding to the wind across its face.