Holy
by Deborah Yarchun

They walked through the Negev desert at night like day,

the orange moon looming aglow, casting silhouettes

that stalked on through the stillness, past dunes,

rolling and reverberating

with the howls of Jerusalem dogs.

Feeling the distance of drum beats and Bedouin fires,

they traced snake paths and animal trails

with words of desert battle hallowed through the hills in their minds,

finding empty silence in the starless night.

The shadows stretched across fields of sand in solitude and finally stood

like single living survivors of Masada.

A chill cascaded through the dusts in temporal calm, sweeping

ancient visions that echoed through the valleys.

And a soundless song in the pilgrim’s hearts, called back in litany:

Kadosh, kadosh, kadosh!