The First Dybbuk

The Wandering Jew carried the body

of a man he’d never met on his back

and tried to live with the weight.

He walked until the sun went black

and then through the darkness.

He walked on blisters until they calloused. 

He walked until he was dizzy and saw

through a hundred eyes like a spider

or an angel. He did not ask to drink. 

He walked through wars, through swarms

of widows. A woman fell at his feet

and cried how he looked like her son.

He’d walk until he’d found the right grave.

He’d rest when his stranger could rest.

He’d stop to pray and tear his clothes.

He walked until there was no more desert.

He walked until he was the body, waiting

for someone to carry him.