Villanelle (A Brief History of Judaism)

Though I may sleep, the burning bush sparks bright.

You are no god; I am not Miriam--

I cannot burn what is not mine by right.

In future hours I see the sacred light

Of stainless souls as pyre eclipses pyre.

Though I may sleep, the burning bush sparks bright.

No dove and olive branch return from flight:

The tichel leadens, packed with ash like earth.

We burn and burn, who are not theirs by right.

The crucible revives and hardens white.

Too strong we've grown in manna and in milk.

Though I may sleep, the burning bush sparks bright.

Of Ariel and Amos, which am I?

Millenia carve out their names in flesh.

I cannot burn what is not mine by right.

We wash ashore like shards within the tide,

(We resurrect) the stars, the sea, the sand.

Though we may sleep, the burning bush sparks bright;

We cannot burn what is not ours by right.