Dance for us, oh Lord
Step sprightly on the earth you wrought
Lift your hands to the stars
To the lights you spread in the firmament
Gird your loins and leap
Rise up to the tops of the trees you named
Above the oaks of Mamre
Over the crowns of towering Lebanese cedar
Sing for us, mighty one
Lift your voice in an ancient stately tune
Let your harmonies swell
Like songbird and raptor trilling as one
May your low notes roll
Thunder crashing as waves burst upon stone
Accompanied by your instruments
By rain and wind, infant’s laugh and mother’s cry
Sing for us, Jehovah
Sing for us
By no means sing for yourself
Omit your primeval tune
Speak not through angels
Who shine too bright
Nor through prophets
For they offend
Yes, dance for us, God
Sway like reeds in the Jordan’s marsh
Move for us as we expect
And do not surprise us in the very least
Follow our lead, master
Please us as we please ourselves
In no wise be extraordinary
For the word is so hard to spell
From Luke 7 / Matthew 11.
From my notes while working on this poem: “It’s natural to go down to the Jordan and see reeds blow in the wind. John the Baptist was not natural. We may find wonder in a Malick-like fascination with the natural and the mundane; but what really makes the landscape come alive? We long for the extraordinary, but then mistrust it when we find it… because it does not ‘belong’ in the picture.”