the noun of the world is exile:
when not-space, not-time burst
into being
fragments of not-space, not-time
flew that way or another
each aching to fuse with
its broken neighbor,
exile pounding it down
and God set the angel,
flaming sword in hand,
to guard the garden path.
fifty seven hundred years
later
he waits still for exile’s end.
the verb of the world is yearn:
does that angel tasked
to stand guard,
the flame lighting the way
only once used,
ache too?
does the angel yearn?
does he watch, hoping for
to see the exiled progenitors
coming, coming back
with joyous song,
carrying sheaves once
planted in tears?
the object of the world is return:
all those angels,
those single purpose entities,
perhaps not the sharpest pencils
in not-space, not-time’s
tool box,
carry unclear hope-filled notes
between
the source of not-space, not-time
and the wrigglies down here,
yearning for exile’s end.
the noun, the verb, the object:
God said let there be
and we say:
let return in its
fullness-of-being
ease the path:
help us write into being,
the object,
the hope
of the world:
shalom, the world
at last complete.
22nd Tevet
11 January 2026