By Richard Mather
I will proclaim the name of Elah Yisrael:
It is Yehowah Tzavaot
the impassioned one who speaks
the yod & the heh, who
brings it all
into being, into shape, first with words
& then forming substance with his hands.
Far above the newly hammered earth,
the unseen Yahu (O He!)
sits at his wheel, creates
& curates each little pot,
all the animals, trees & men,
delighting in the lettered forms
he finds inscribed in his personal
sefer ha’mitzvot.
Now it’s Yom HaShevi’i & Yah
enholied by Torah’s hidden light,
bends down the heavens
to the garden & all therein, shuts
his book of creation, stills
both his hands.
(And I heard an angel say,
‘To be our Maker involves
rather more precision
& a little more care than
Spinoza’s natura naturans.’)
A mist went up from the earth
& out of the ground grew a cypress tree
pleasant to the sight,
the tree of souls, its fruits
ripening like figs,
& close by
desert snakes, little leviathans,
sinuous coils; among them
the Twisting One
with poison tongue,
edging closer to the firstborn ones.
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