About to Leave for God

“God shepherds me,” sang
The psalmist, bleating the lamb
He needed for sacrifice.

My friend said, “I was always
Happy when the word
‘Joy’ did not arise,”

Adding that, “a friend of mine
Quivers at the sound
Of the word, ‘God.’” Lord.

That word, my god, is jealous,
Particularly jealous
Of the likes of psalms.

That word God is the night’s soil,
Word that restoreth its soul.