Confessedly, I still haven´t learned how to count on my fingers and memories all the ways in which you have been and you are and the ways I hope you´ll be good. Even with birdsong, the unwanted and diseased lurk like lions in every field.

G-d, forgive me my wariness as I praise you.

I don´t know if I´ve seen suffering and wickedness beyond my years, or rather that it has cut me like a chisel, shaping the way my lips try to exalt and my heart tries to believe.

But Ezekiel writes about a river, bringing life to every tree, and in this vision each tree bears fruit each month, and even the leaves are meant for healing. And when it´s seemingly impossible to believe in anything, this is it--this river--and I see it in the far-off distance and I trust you that it´s not a mirage.