By The Oaks of Mamre

By the oaks of Mamre
By Rino Palmani

By the oaks of Mamre where the Lord appeared to Abraham
I planned my war: I concocted strategies against my blood,
supervised protracted campaigns against my deathless longing.
My generals spoke to me: bestow upon us great weapons
that we may slay your heart. I gave them songs
of praise and genocidal urges, and stones
lifted from the house of bread.
We took prisoners in the valley. We asked them:
did you find pleasure dancing constantly in Babylon?
When they did not reply, we dethroned their names
and left them destitute, ministered to by a murder of crows.
We pillaged my veins, ransacked my ribs. My soul fled
to a holy place where we were forbidden to hunt.
I saw Jeremiah upon a distant hill; he did not speak to me.
My bones caked with doubt, I could not muster fury from my limbs,
so by the oaks of Mamre, I wept as I crucified my will:
then the Lord came to me and He bade me rest.