Where are you, YHWH, my neglectful friend?
You have seen my depression; 
I have not tried to hide it. 
Did I use the right words? 
Do I embarrass you?

Truest Light, illuminate all I know.
Show me joy and the shadow of its absence.
Real Skull, contain and form my mind.
My neurons ripple
as you hover over my chaotic depths. 

My reputation is desperately cultivated
like germinating seeds in a clenched fist. 
YHWH, lop off my self-esteem.

My children, their mother: 
what more proof do I need
of your all-the-time goodness?
YHWH, my gardener, selector
of companion plants and hedging.
Fanged beasts crouch beyond the brambles:
a hoard slavering over my verdant home.

I deny the fear that consumes me
and grow accustomed to helplessness. 
I fear blame more than multiple forms
of death.
My integrity is melted down
into chains for my family. 
The inevitable conclusion: I am responsible
for wellbeing outside my own. 
Guilt swells my tongue as I pity myself;
my children cower as I point fingers;
my wife hides her heart; 
Leviathan constricts our souls. 

I have little concept of your nearness.
When I realize my need, you
have comprehended it.

You furnish my shield before arrows alight the sky;
if only I would lift it.
The serpent has a taste for your servant;
crush it before he strikes.

YHWH is the best that has happened.
A moment indwelt by my Helper
better than self-actualized nirvana.
I could catch fire in a vacuum.
YHWH sees my deepest suffering,
lets it indwell him. 

Ekklesia, way, foster home, church:
wrap me in warm belonging, our
incarnate Spirit-with-body together
tracing hope strung by YHWH
throughout spacetime. 

El Rachum, universal constant, make
justice a substance, not theory;
light as authored, not authority;
systems as designed, not blind;
kinship our predestination.