And Jacob sware by the fear of his father Isaac.
Sharp trauma must have lingered on for good
in Isaac’s silent dazed humanity
halted by heaven; trembling laid on wood
too young to question father’s sanity.
Was it a light thing? To be thus withstood
by Jehovah’s awful benignity…
Faltering further up life’s mountain, would
he carry the damage with dignity?
This just might explain the forty-year wait—
meditating on the ram, on his fate.
The paralyzing laughter of his name
even after life unveiled in his tents.
A certain hesitation does make sense
in the son laid out on unkindled flame.