Miles of terrain stand between today and tomorrow.
The internal compass is broken.
Soulish pride won't permit an enquiry
Of the Urim and Thummim.

The soles of the feet ache from previous conquest.
The body's tattered, worn from the load of the sun.
Although the clouds appear supernatural
There is no shadow in sight.

There is a breeze stirring.
Enough to acknowledge the Spirit's presence.
But nothing to testify about.

Hush! Listen for
A going in the top of the mulberry trees.