Some will say: Had we been
alive then, we would not have killed
the prophets or despised their words.
Yet the Truth stands to rebuke.
In every heart, the secret depths
defy what shines with grace before us,
takes, destroys, the tender things
and carves a throne from bones.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem:
the fire comes; the mother longs
to cover you up with her wings.
Yet in your heart you run.
The Consolations of Writing 