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sometimes  
i see you as pharoah’s daughter  
down by the river of bulrushes  
as she comes across  
something amazing:  
an abandoned baby  
a newly birthed poem  
floating like a  
golden bauble  
in the stream  

how then can  
she turn away  
without a comment  
as though she cannot see  
a parting of waters  
a burning bush  
and a glimpse  
of a strange land  
so many years ahead  
flowing with milk  
with honey  
 
to have seen  
the babe in helpless  
desperation  
and to walk on by  
without a glimmer of ohmygod
no comment  
to her simpering handmaidens  
about this marvel  
seems casually indifferent  
as if such wonders  
are so commonplace  
she cannot  
be bothered  
to stop and bathe in  
such glory  
but ignores the helpless cry  
and walks on blithely by