Credit In Unumrnbv Richard MoorernTo fill the moral voidrnwhen God Almighty dies,rnsome shall believe in Freud,rnsome in the Nobel Prize.rnAll-yielding, nothing loath,rnSibyl believed in both.rnHer faith was eager, touching;rnit made my heart glow warmer.rnI liked to see her clutchingrnthat holy man, the former,rnbut I could best get at herrnby lashing at the latter.rn”A Nobel Prize for him?rnWhy, Frost—like several fellows—rnshines bright enough to dimrnglimmers from twenty Bellows.”rnShe, waking to a jury,rnleapt from the bed in fury.rnHer kitchen pots went bang.rn”Loving relationshipsrncannot survive,” she sang,rn”such jabs, such brutal quips.”rnI tried to soothe, finaglernat breakfast—a stale bagel.rnI bit its crust and—tastingrntruths that my crunching bruiteddeparted,rnshriveled, wasting,rnremorselessly uprooted,rnwho’d been a happy weed inrnher lush and lovely Eden.rnGod of our winter chill,rnwhy must You be so dead?rnHad You been living still,rnSibyl had stayed in bedrnand love, forgetting wrath,rnbloomed in her primrose path.rnDECEMBER 1994/13rnrnrn