Your religion is
an earworm, curled around
my feeble brain. All day I
find myself singing praises of

your god, my
former salvation. Your religion dances
around my tired mind, enchanting

my ears even as
my heart rebels. I am
in the shower, trying
not to sing my love to
the cold tile walls, the
streaming hot water, the

house as my family listens to
the notes pour out of
my open mouth. טוב
להודות ל' ולזמר
לשמך עליון they

sing in voices like
brightly feathered birds circling
the light of
His countenance. Your god
is strong, and gives of
his strength freely to those

who can follow him faithfully. I
find myself incapable, and yet
your melodies ensnare me. This blessing
of musicality, gifted directly

from hours of sitting rapt, in
your house of worship, is also
my curse. I cannot forget
the source of my love affair
with the rise and fall
of your adoring exaltations
and all music.