I will meet you in Capernaum, once the
        great garble of the hobnobbers
is passed. Stay inside for now. Stay with
the sick of palsy and the sick of insomnia.
        Tear up the roof later. Pull the dull weight
of the rafters as hard as you can. Cut through
the eaves, the matted straw gables.
         For now, stay in that bed, with
all its sun-dried linen kindness. I know—
I know it isn't a bed I wanted to fold up
         either, but the day is steeping
in the clear summer light of Tammuz.
The heat of that restless brown sun
          saps my breath as well,
but there are things I'd like forgiven.
Sleep quietly this night, and then
          take up your eyes, and
I will meet you in Capernaum, once the
          great migration of those
seeking a word of salvation is passed.