1 Samuel 19: 9-10
Still clutching his harp, breathless,
he runs from the depth of the palace,
where a javelin pins to the wall
a curl of his quivering red hair.
A full moon drifts over the stream,
sending a light through thick trees,
an owl pulses vibrato,
slices the light with dark tones.
Young David leaps over a rock,
his life has lost its sweet pitch.
Giant-killer, hero, musician,
he escapes from the smile of a king
whose soul is the color of night.