Granted, life without a sabbath
is an unbroken
series of weekdays
a melody
decomposed
into—just notes;
but inchoate ears
hear old music
in new and fictive ways
and immature voices
proclaim old truths
in new and fantastic tenses.
It makes their under-
ripe throats feel soothed
to proclaim
not that which is,
or will come—but that
which ought to be;
theirs is an impervious god
who must
never be addressed
but instead
is—sometimes
listened to.
