Whose Order yields a world reversed?
-Roger White, The Witness of Pebbles
We wrestle with our diaries and datebooks
as though for our lives.
24 June, 25, 26, so that's the third of ...
Renaming our days in the language of divinity,
translating old gods and emperors into the script
of an untried life. Bahá, Jalál, Jamál ...
Workaday splendor? Entire weeks of beauty?
The new creation trumpets its challenge, an assault
on the everyday, every day: Rise then
unto that for which thou wast created!
But isn't that after sunset?
I don't know. Is it daylight savings time?
Damn it all!
Our halflight voices croak frustration,
not yet grown above cursing even God.
Disoriented days begin with supper now,
find their zenith in waking and prayer,
and in the overhead blaze that marks the final quarter,
we dissolve into our respective inabilities.
To my powerlessness and to Thy might.
To my poverty and to Thy wealth.
And then begin again. We, foreigners
to the very world we build, painstakingly translate
one word, one admonition, one commandment—
one day at a time. Badi, we will someday say,
overlooking the panorama of our accomplishment,
the fruits of a generation of moments
bent on metamorphosis.
Here we begin.
10 July 2009
Posted by Kat