Another week has etched its signature in our bones,
and thickened the air with its blue song,
and heaped its gravel in a corner
of the world and run.
But now it’s here, the Sabbath, a room
entered through any vowel, any consonant
that has come to rest on this page, a room
still with the unticking of a clock.
Yes, she’s here, the Sabbath,
mother of the mother of the mother of our mother,
and her heart is our heart, her mind our mind,
and for one moment our miserable lives are lifted
from the rags of days that would claim us as their own.