How fitting
it would be, Lord
to pitch tents
up here,
on this mount
for you and for us!
Wild thyme perfumes with its fragrance
the ground beneath our feet
and above our head
tails of comets
streak the empty sky.
And were You, like Joshua,
to forbid the sun
from rising …
and were you
from the mystic lamps
to give us just one particle of light
soaked in the manna of your love …
if only.