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Psalm for a Changing Climate

Psalm for a Changing Climate

Comforted by damp grasses, by massive maples that shade
my simple house, I linger far from wilderness. Those dry lands
whether formed from ancient ocean or very newly made
from wildfire and desperation, from ash-black sands

are someone else’s home, not mine. Nearby, a river sings
nourished by summer rains—though we have times of drought
a balance still trembles. In this place, my spirit clings
to green hope. Yet, G-d forgive me, I am not without

guilt. Responsibility. Nor do I labor alone:
The neighborhood blossoms with solar panels gleaming,
electric vehicles at any prosperous home,
small compost bins, excited gardeners beaming.

And behind our smiles, our garden-grubby hands
we wonder if the rain will come as often by next year.
Our children, challenging our words, our Promised Lands,
remind us we may be too late. We taste with them such fear.

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