I prostrate myself
in front of you like Avraham
because there could be
no greeting more precise.
I get back on my feet
only upon your word.

You’re my angel; Biblical
wheels within wheels, skin taut over
the bone cage of your structure,
myriad eyes gleaming with a fire
of letters on parchment.

I roll that burning coal
around in my mouth to feel out
your shape, I swallow
the scroll you hand me,
fighting my body as you
reach into my throat
to push scripture deeper
– all the lamentations
absorbed into my flesh
so that I can declaim the praise
of the one you serve.

Do you have to flay yourself alive
or are you on a lower rung of the ladder?

My hands find purchase only
against you. You came to take
away my choice – how could I
not prophesy, how could I not
chant these words reverberating
within my ribs, how could I not –

Your body a mismatch
with all my eyes had
ever beheld. Yet, yet.
My larynx straining.

I withstand your gaze.

• • • •

Sources: Isa 52:7, Gen 18:2, Ezek 1:16, Ezek 10:12, Midrash Tanchuma – Bereishit 1:1, Isa 6:6-7, Ezek 3:1-2, Ezek 2:10, Jer 1:4-5, Yesodei haTorah 2:3-4.