The human chapters
Rings true on paper - but, by the book
characters tend to leap off the page
as we thumb the human chapters -
leaves of crushed bones, tautly stretched skin.
blood-red ink. Virtue, fidelity strained out of proportion,
never again to assume their original shape.
Leave all, said my Beloved, and follow Me.
Our one true Friend but,
that does not absolve us from our infidelities.
Maybe, each is destined to wear the robe of Abraham.
The best I could muster now would be to hand God
the knife, curl up beside my son on the offering stone.
Unfit, unripe by my infidelity but, surely,
not abandoned by my one true Friend.
Thin scriptures, gold-trimmed, rattle the pages;
columned, annotated truths ring hollow
when blood spills, bones get broken;
when loved ones, weeping, appear
among those left behind. Then, words of truth prove
not worth the paper upon which they are written.
O child of God, beware of truth small enough
to fit into discourse and sutras, parable and song.