Listen, reader of the dreams
Interpreted by Joseph, who led
Israel into Egypt, brought them
Up again: return us to ourselves.
However long it takes to mill,
To knead the sorry flour, our bread
Crumbles and the neighbors jeer.
Return us to ourselves. Why plant
These terraced hills with vineyards,
Cork trees, almonds, olives, cedars,
Willows trailing in the river?
Passing strangers trample down
Thorn hedges, pluck the orchards
Bare. Deer and boar root out
The broken fruit. Can you look down,
And not return us to ourselves,
The chosen cutting scorched, uprooted?
O unpronounceable that made us,
Make us strong again. We know
There is no going back.
Return us to ourselves.
Dear Reader,
Can I be direct with you?
War abroad. Socialists on the rise. AI upending human life. Endless uproar online. The modern attention economy doesn’t want readers — it wants users enslaved to the tyranny of the present.
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