Rest assured, God, Adonai, Holy One
Unseen Savior, Invisible to the point of
wondering what sounds You make
or bath salts You use, as a vegetarian
(and, I guess, by law as a Jew) no blood
will pass through these lips, as I view it
as sacred inside the, sometimes furry,
beings in which it is housed.
It’s not even an issue.
Also not an issue, Divine Kahuna
Hallowed Super Being, Creator and Dispeller
of all body itches, ever since the Garden
I’ve been collecting fig leaves in
the fashionable colors of our days –
Plus, I take my signature on the ketubah
seriously, and know exactly whose fig leaves
I’m allowed to pluck away.
I remember, once, standing outside a movie theater
with other people who held words as sacred as the ones
You, oh Revered Giver of scrolly text, put in our faces
by law and tradition every week, shouting Moloch
to each other, and innocent movie patrons, and the sky
where, we assume, You have a condo or a mansion or
a cloud-based tabernacle. We were just quoting a poem
from another nice Jewish boy, whose beard, like Herzl
and Moses before him, had long since entered the dust.
Never fear, oh Totem of DNA and long-gone dinosaurs –
We are the children of the children of the children
We know it has always been You.