We found him on a hillside, alone.
Somehow, I haven’t a clue,
He lost himself in the crowds,
That feeding frenzy of agonizing hope.
The others told me the stories,
What he had done at Cana
With the wine and the Roman boy,
His words to Nazareth’s rabbinim.
But I would still not believe,
Had I not seen with my own eyes,
What he has done this day–
What he did for your mother.
I’m not sure I’m ready for this.
I used to please you so easily–
Fistfuls of weeds were boquets,
Scrawls on a slate sonnets,
My first catch a blessed feast.
But soon after I became your man
My best was no longer good enough.
Now when I return, I see it in your eyes:
Another day, another disappointment.
Can I tell you what I feel?
I saw the way you looked at him.
She rose from your bed, healed–
And she wasn’t just grateful,
She wasn’t just fever-free.
She was enamored. I saw it in her eyes:
This is a man worthy of my daughter.
You would have done anything for him.
You honored him without reserve.
Yes, I speak blasphemy.
This is how I want you to look at me.
This is the respect I want in my own home.
I want to do the things he does–
I want that kind of power, and more.
I want the throngs pressing,
That look in their eyes,
My name on their lips,
Awe and reverence in their hearts.
Dare I say it? To be worshiped.
But that isn’t me. It’s him.
And what does he do? Slips away, hides.
When we found him– Yes, I begged his return.
He just looked at me, and smiled.
I don’t understand
He’s lost me
I’ve lost you