People build towns on hills.
They don’t care what Noah would think about them.
There is always a way to learn the age of the water,
Always a way to ask what it doesn’t like to keep hidden.
Noah is jealous like a thousand beavers in a meadow,
Dead like stranded fish. But Jonah builds Trojan whales
And leaves them on the highest mountains he can reach.
They rot for centuries exposing the empty guts
To the genial sun and astounded silent birds.
The void conquers God while the prophets relax below.
The higher you climb, the less your voice needs you.