Burning Bush

I left for Mount Sinai

when I felt the need to hide.

It was a real need,

not a longing. A

matter of life

and death. Not by

my own hands, but a

strangulation

by the world.

On the mountain, 

there was no breeze

and there was no sound.

I was the tallest thing 

all around. I wandered.

The land looked like me

and I looked like it, so

I was constantly

examining

myself. 

I was my surroundings.

And I liked what I saw

but wondered at what I didn’t.

I heard the whisperings of

a burning bush

but did not know 

what to make of it.

Was that me too?

But I don’t know that

I cared. I could

see no exit

and feel

no urgency.

It was what it was.

And now,

it is what it is.