He Abandoned the Tabernacle of Shiloh

Now
in the midst of piles of tin roof sheets
rusted by tears that have not arrived
and wooden beams hollowed by termites of doubt
I am here
unfurled on the book of Psalms
fluttered by the sobbing wind of the pasture
heavenward there
where we created the gods
through pestilences
while I pity the pages
torn by your frozen faith
by the faltering
of a once searing love.

After they decimate
the tabernacle of your youth
I promise to embrace the fire
of your many departures
and fly along with everything that turns to smoke.

I am your last burnt offering
to that jealous God.