How long will this cloud be with us,
day and night, without end?
casting god-sized shadows on sun and moon alike,
here impatient wills tap feet anxiously,
persistently since the First Crossing.
When the cloud lifts, we're supposed to follow?
Why does this following seem like a game of chase?
“Israel, a nation of cloud-chasers,”
other nations will mock in unison
their voices rising high over the earth,
“Israel drags an empty balloon
before us, behind us,
a vacuous balloon
waiting to be inflated by their god's presence.”
What reply is there to give? And if already here,
then when may we give it?
We are stalling, desperate all the time
for the balloon to soar against desert sky
and remind us that we're not impotent magicians,
unable to conjure life in the wilderness, instead
that we're promise-laden sons and daughters
waiting for his coming.
In that hour, his hour and ours with YHWH,
the nations will tremble
for one moment beneath the cloud
produces the crushing weight of annihilation
or ecstatic joy of triumph
not ours alone, but his with us.
Raise the banner of your involvement, O YHWH,
we shout aloud before these settled nations,
become to us the one who acts on our behalf
may this cloud become a substantial sign
upon which we may build our present hope
and future satisfaction.
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