Dear Yahweh

I love you, despite your invisible texture. But what am I

That I love you? I’m vapor, adrift a zephyr, climbing an

Intangible mountain. Would you have me to perish in

My wisdom, incapable of discerning the depth of your

Image? Come to me in my visions. Teach me to calculate

The meaning of every vibration, lest I perish to unbelief.

It is I, a child of dreams, a giant of faith, apologizing for

The grand master. But this is a confliction, made of

Iron of dualism. “Why is light given to a man whose way

Is hidden?” Expose us to brilliance—that we may rest

Upon spiritual cotton, for exilic cries have lead us to the

River of despair. In your absence, our loneliness has become

Intimate, where your likeness is the image of sorrow.

Tell us this is fiction. Tell us we weren’t born to emptiness.