The View From Mount Nebo Poem by Mark Sauer

The view from Mount Nebo suspends my will
Between dread and desire. I am afraid
to descend, or turn back - I must stand still.
Though I breathe its fragrance, I was not made
For paradise. The milk and honey would
Burn my parched lips, unused for forty years
To sweetness. I will tarry here, and brood
The alien green horizon through tears
Of joy and grief mixed equally. My seed
Will inherit, but here, on the threshold of
Fulfillment, I must stop. I do not need
The promised things; the object of my love
Now frightens me. I cannot grasp it, lest
It fall beneath the dream. Here I will rest.