Psalm 49 (a lament)

Nameless, I begin, Lord of All Names;
~~pulled wingless by children, Origin of Flight and Air, I am lower than a fly.

I stand without the world, Father of Creation,
~~nothing but a weary witness to its end.

They call me American, fierce eagle, proud;
~~they summon my keen sight to their aim: where is Your greater height?

They imagine me woman, title me white, shifting as moonlight in a stream;
~~they set my place at once above my reach yet beneath their feet: where is Your gender bridge?

They christen me in their tradition, now on a mountain, down in a valley, like a mule weighted with notions;
~~they announce their conclusions for the sake of echo: where is Your initial word?

Name me Your child, Lord, and I will be born to You;
~~I will live where isle and land are a reflection of heaven and every sound in Jerusalem is new.

Psalm 44

In Persia did our praise aspire;
~~we longed to serve God’s golden verse.

Each sage of ages gone brought every phase and shape of moon and carried lamps of psalm,
~~yet the heart of earth and mountain peaks speak of His godlier, gloried sun.

When one who loves God begins to solve the premise of empires and the danger of his own garden, the hostile and holiest birthplace of faith,
~~then, lighted by delight, he orients the stonier man.

In Iran, on that pleated, petaled sore rose, did rain descend:
~~let the one who ponders this respond.