I listen to the sounds of the lake.
Her voice is like camphor,
an analgesic soprano
that sounds its cool note.
My chronic pain
disappears with the numbing
of society’s ailment—
the pain of its divorce from God.
Thus my note to the Prophet,
that there was an impassable divide
between humanity and the divine,
and a dove was sacrificed on the altar—
There was a perfect health and purity—
that a dove’s righteousness
took the place of my son
so he would not have to pay later.