For my child.
He has been in that strange and violent region by the river
Where horrible images drove down upon him
And filled his mouth with words of destruction
He remembers being immolated in the furnace that denied his faith
He has denied his own family, fearing to die
He built a place of thanksgiving
It was beset by fire
No matter how much water was turned on it
Having known the stifling constriction
And the endless wilderness
He reposes only in the promise
Of a land where he will flourish
Andy Oram
April 1, 2026