Psalm 121
This Issue
April 23, 2026
Psalm 121
From the prohibition against representation
that binds the globe in images.
From that blue sea from which like whips
my help will come
to mend me nameless to this rock the world
that I may see you,
my Lord. Who once misfit the eye
as mere prosperity,
the glare that causes objects. Who once
set us in the deep
a password, lock and mercenary. Who once
ranged in love, out there,
the farthest animal of our personhood. But nowthe blackrobed brokerage of air is sawed
from under me. And now
the gabled hospital I go is gated shut from me,
clapped close,
as like to babies mothers clap all done,
all done, and auspices
pruned back, snip snip, to let day in,
more day into the day—
and from the sunny bank accounts of
upper air. And from
the hot shade of the worksite letters come
in languages, I did not care.
As run with run does rhyme
and moon by night
so we have nowhere else to go.
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