The Lord met Moses
     and sought to kill him.
 
     Then Moses’ wife, Zipporah
     took a sharp stone,
     and cut off the foreskin
     of her son, and cast it at his feet
     and said, Surely thou art
     a bridegroom of blood
     to me.
 
     So he let him go:
     then she said,
     A bloody husband
     thou art.
 
         ―  Exodus 4:24-26
  
Between God and man, this forgotten daughter of Jethro,
with needle breasts a Urim Thummim of sharpened seer stone
and Baptist milk coarse as camel water, a dove sent to overthrow
the priesthood of Min. Turning toward God, her scarab breastbone
etched in Sinai’s silence and the consummation of flint and Pharaoh,
she grasps his Uraeus in her rose-stained hand and cuts and cuts. Atone
we must the bride price paid by Egypt’s firstborn sons, parting their foreskin
with upraised arms, dividing Red Sea from Promised Lands. Nile’s seed 
shall again overflow with rods of rainwater mocking the Desert of Zin.
Zipporah, my wife, apply honey to this wound, this place. Intercede
my Mashhit angel, and restore Maat’s myrrh and bitter cinnamon:
reclaim Eden’s daughters who prophesied and long ago decreed
Earth’s baptism shall recede, and reveal wisdom lost by flood―
My God, my God, will you slay me now I’ve tasted Your blood?