Pamilerin Jacob
[THE SECOND CONTEMPLATION]
—from Contemplations on the Beloved
I do not think I will be great.
This humbles me — the idea
that my life is destined
to bear, always, the scent of dust.
The assurance, I suspect, is rooted
in desire — a deep seated aversion
to spotlights, a multiplying distaste
festering within.
Better to say then, I do not want
to be great, merely heard.
Not that obscurity gladdens me,
rather, it seeks possession
of my body, the way fingers
lay claim to gloves.
I doubt you would want this too—
to be the nail in furniture, unseen
[though necessary]. You have always
considered yourself loaded
with a radiant future.
A tomorrow with enough decibels
to engulf the world.
Said once of Peter, from his body
were brought unto the sick handkerchiefs
or aprons, and the diseases departed
from them. You, origin of everything
beautiful. In our story,
I am each handkerchief
racing from all corners of Israel,
to reach you.
I do not think I will be great.
This humbles me — the idea
that my life is destined
to bear, always, the scent of dust.
The assurance, I suspect, is rooted
in desire — a deep seated aversion
to spotlights, a multiplying distaste
festering within.
Better to say then, I do not want
to be great, merely heard.
Not that obscurity gladdens me,
rather, it seeks possession
of my body, the way fingers
lay claim to gloves.
I doubt you would want this too—
to be the nail in furniture, unseen
[though necessary]. You have always
considered yourself loaded
with a radiant future.
A tomorrow with enough decibels
to engulf the world.
Said once of Peter, from his body
were brought unto the sick handkerchiefs
or aprons, and the diseases departed
from them. You, origin of everything
beautiful. In our story,
I am each handkerchief
racing from all corners of Israel,
to reach you.