A river of dreams, a pillar of salt
this, our dear world, of joy, of fault.
Perhaps Lot’s wife was not punished but spared
from knowing her daughters’ pathetic sin.
Then again: if she’d lived, her girls
would never have lain with their sire.
This world: of purpose, or chance?
And I? am the ram caught in the brambles
that Abraham sees, then lowers his knife.
Isaac is spared because of me,
and from his madness the old man is freed.
This world: of voices, of shadows, of light
and things that go bump in the night.
* * *
(c) Gregory V Driscoll 2011