“Look not upon me, because I am black,
                     because the sun hath looked upon me.”

                                               — Song of Solomon 1:6a


Wisdom is the language of light & shadow
& when offered the divine, you chose

to straddle that collision, loving the Lord,
walking in the statutes of David your father,

but sacrificing & burning incense on the high places.
I cannot judge your ways; I cannot comprehend you

separated by millennia, you with that wisdom, but—
I wonder how illuminated the blessing, laid beside

the dark & deep of its perversion.  What greater temptation
did you embrace & face entanglement:  Malevolence

of  antediluvian spirits,  or the wiles
& ways of seven hundred wives—

three hundred concubines besides?  What wisdom
lies with audacious hubris—thinking you could please

that many women—or control
that many demons?  And yet

He still looked upon you, still spoke
& wrote of you, with sweet esteem…

at least until His anger burned & tore
the kingdom away from you.

Yet–when scripture selects a song of love—
to persist the centuries, whether Queens or Princesses

or any other truth of identity, your serenade rose above—
even—the poetry of your father.  Your banner

over her was love; she sat down under your shadow
with great delight, your fruit was sweet to her taste.

She called you apple tree among the trees of the wood
& I cannot help but see that Rembrandt Triangle:

Wisdom, & Apples, & Intimacy—
your pale against her dark—

that final temptation buried
within a core of shadows.

*Layout mattered/was essential to me on this one.  Image won’t post here, but on FB*

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