A Psalm by Saul

The door opens and it is David
always David
laughing, careless,
white and red.

David!
But the women sing his myriads
and shower him with unearned love
and the spirit of the Lord
whispers on his shoulder.

Once it was I who heard that Voice,
thin and certain,
my madness most divine.
But the L-rd of course
prefers the perfect.

And David? Where is my David?
Let him come and fill my head
with psalms instead of ravings,
beautiful rose-red David
with the crystal eyes.
But he ducks away and then is gone.

Turn away. And tear away my mantle-scrap
like the promise of redemption.

Let me forget what is to come.