the earlier edition
of the book of mercy –
the one with the jewish star
on the front
and purple.
not this pale one with the
chops.
not that the language is
changed,
but the language is changed.
it is somehow diminished.
perhaps, you might say,
it wasn’t by choice -
but we all make choices,
don’t we?
we take pains to shape our
legacy
and find our way home.
it’s not you –
it’s me. somehow feeling
betrayed,
i suppose. there are priests
on both sides, after all.
so why should this matter?
you still sing the same
songs,
explore similar paths.
i might still find you
at the top of the mountain,
by a column of smoke by day
or a pillar of fire by
night,
wearing a robe. or a robe.
or a
suit and a jaunty hat.
