Jacob

I.

I realize the sweating is my own
and fear my own destruction,
let the cold
while lying here in sweat
come creeping in,
yet hold on in my exhaustion.

Men of old
have struggled thus with angels,
lived and told
the stories of their gods,
the gold they won
and, all the time, while losing.

What I have won is nothing.

God is one and, so too, is my body:
heart and lungs
and unrepentant penis;
once was young,
but now through age and tarnish,
have begun
to know how what is primal
leads to fear
and touching on what is holy.

II.

We had come
to make of two one altar
where the flame
of God leaped high and faltered,
left us wet
with sweat and sticky water.

Like the Sea of Reeds
that Moses parted,
passion drowned in waves of God’s departing.
Walls came back.

Now, flat on our backs we rest here;
not a sound,
our eyes turned to the ceiling.
All is calm,
my hand light on your belly,
so to bless.