“You’ll Find King Herod’s Tomb”
You’ll find King Herod’s tomb beneath it all, and Cæsar’s not far
Behind buried in debris not hitherto imagined nor have the Magi ever seen
As much though restless centuries’ search, redux reckoned countable as has been
Adjusted by the market honed of hubris born of Ptolemy’s predilections, dwarfed
And all but swallowed in the squalid synecdoches of all economies; schemes
Asserting prescient views in years despite their slumbers
Solvent in the past and future well beyond prognosis and the numbers
Used to fund their offices and humour all humanity. Their smiles seem
To reach for meaning in the fireplace, they sift the ashes of the kiln
And pyre and dote on what they think they’ve found as if confirmed
Not least by carbon’s ancient age and not at all by what is earned.
Admire the Chinese while they rise, ballast for the Pantheon of what fits the bill
And never mind the unseen sacrifice and all that slavery, monuments to reigns
As numberless in catalogues as blood stains
in a Holy Land of boiling clouds and endless pain.