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O God of Mercy
Choose—
another people.
We are tired of death, tired of corpses,
We have no more prayers.
Choose—
another people.
We have run out of blood
For victims,
Our houses have been turned into…
Father, adonoi, author of all things
of the three states,
the soft light on the barn at dawn,
a wind that sings
in the bracken, fire in iron gates,
the ram’s horn,
Furnisher, hinger of…
We cleansed our bodies and we are pure,
We cleansed our spirits and are at peace.
Death does not frighten us,
We shall meet it calmly.
We served God with…
When I observe a toothless ex-violinist,
with more hair than face, sprawled like Karl Marx
on a park seat or slumped, dead or asleep,
in the central heat of a public library
I think of Uncle Isidore…