Why should the Lord of me a nation build?
And why should I care about descendants?
I seek no promise, nor need one fulfilled
here on this world of make-believe events.

And now He tests me by naming my child
His blessing upon me?! A child lives,
A child breathes; he feels to think; and, mild,
should grow into his own estate. Who gives
permission to kill an innocent?
What God would foist mere history
upon humankind, that we might live by hints,
and put our faith in what pretend we to be?

Now binding Isaac on the altar, I’m
slow-moing every moment; and thus
I stretch this act out to the edge of time,
to wait out the Lord himself, if I must.

And Isaac lies so very still. He knows
this knife now aimed and sinking at his throat
will never slice the neck through which I flow
from dust to more and grander dust. We float
together forever. We will wait out space
and time, man, woman, God. We’ll take our place
among stones and sand, where winds dissolve each
wild, reckless claim to solid certain reach.

Man’s nothing compared to God the Wise
And God’s more constant than the sun
But God’s face changes in our eyes
And though His will must always be done,
that will is not always as it seems
to us flinchy squawky foolish little things.