Father, You have done me a bad turn —
You have given me to know that my
people suffer, that all animals suffer,
that the world itself dies but cannot die.
Father, what is it You want me to do?
I have no power, but entire trust in You.
But this great faith, this trust which You
bless, Your holy knowledge now feels infernal.
It burns deep to hear their cries and
to see the nations crumble, the stench of
rot as the great flies swarm through
Your Temple at the center of the wide world.
The Tree must bloom again, O Father!
The flower-nectar must drip into our mouths
as we lay starved and weeping beneath its
outstretched boughs, for we cannot ourselves reach up.
Let us be made awake by the sweet perfume
that we may finally pluck the ripe fruits
of Heaven’s Tree, take a bite, and pass it
outward, planting the seeds to make the world whole.