Your promises I welcome, numerous and good,
but the blamelessness I simply cannot manage.
Perhaps, O Perfection, we can come to a different arrangement?
I could give you my fear and awe — easily;
my name and faith, too — several times over;
but human things, O Holiness, are the stuff of life I cannot forfeit.
If you insist upon dazzling me into submission,
requiring my shame and suffering as testimony,
then I’d rather get behind you, O Way, for the sweet chance of becoming lost.
Let the ends of the earth remember and worship;
tell tomorrow, and yesterday, and today to bow.
Abraham is still trying to count the stars, O Satisfaction, as am I, as are we all.
Hope is the true inheritance of disappointment
passed on to the next generation for better odds.
Come, O Ancient Covenant — not with your proposition but with your fulfillment.