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Bathsheba Bathing The living doll in the sun spilled fountain flicks the water’s sleeping surface and the sparkling nimbus catches the eye of the starry-eyed king restless upon the roof, who, in no time, clouds the air with his own seed-strewn milky way, deadlier than a slung stone. And faithful Uriah rolls in his sleep with a proleptic moan. King David sends and inquires after the woman. The wife, they tell him, of Uriah the Hittite. And David sends messengers and takes her. Her lips are like a thread of scarlet, her skin is dark and comely, clear as the copper Spring of Gihon. And faithful Uriah rolls in his sleep with a doleful moan The royal baitsim of the young king are full of vigor and he plants Bathsheba like a fertile field, filling her with life that very night. They rut like teenagers until, too sore to move, they sleep the easy sleep of youth till dawn. And faithful Uriah, on the field of battle under the rolling sky, troubles his own sleep with a ragged moan. Alec Solomita Alec Solomita is a writer and artist working in Massachusetts. His fiction, poetry, and art have appeared in many journals and anthologies.
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January 2026
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