He talked about something sacred,
    Something old,
This queer New Yorker Rabbi said
That the storytelling could be a pretext
    And a permission
To use them in our lives today
    But not be used by them

And threading it through the forward motion we
    Find ourselves in
One that doesn't discount so many peoples
    Experiences and truth
We can respect the sacred without
    Being crushed by how it predates
Some of our own fantastic evolution

He said he wasn’t feeling unholy,
This queer New Yorker Rabbi said

. . .

Someday the divine crafter of hearts
Who intimately knows the folds of mine
Sees the smooth strong walls of my Aorta
Free of all the clots the places
Evangelical pastors and mentors
    Tore up in me

Surely the all knowing would understand gears of faith
    And can see the truths which can spin in my chest
Surely he would know I am not an abomination
Nor unnatural
Surely he would see I’ve found something
    That offers more serenity than before

. . .

He said the leg extending from his child’s drag
    Was beautiful
The Orthodox father of the
    Queer New Yorker Rabbi said
And they laughed together

Two oceans flowing side by side
Neither overtaking the other