Art in Community among the Poor

A Reading Of Ezekiel

I tried to leave my place but again I found myself
caught in the chill of the night behind my desk, reading,
taking a trip through the Lebanese trees—making my way
through the midnight fog and cooled sand of Ezekiel's poems,
through the forgotten language of laments and prophets,
shepherds and ancient cities. This somehow made my mind
burst into flame for hours until I had to shut off the lamp
and walk to bed. Yet even while I took off my clothes and slid in
under the sheets, I inhaled the thought of a life to come
that would not only be observed but smelled and heard,
becoming more than it ever has been,
bones becoming flesh.

recent poem by Josh Fowler now living in Romania