AT THE WELL
torn seams, clear
cut forest, scorched
city, rubble where once
a breast lived – I
remember
Sometimes we get
stuck, leave the wrong way,
the cord wrapped round
our neck, the path too narrow.
of the forest, after the fire,
and floods, a sodden
smoky grief. I am nowhere
while everywhere, having lost
a path to my exaltation,
innocent expansive joy I begin
Where, how
do the ancestors
live in me –
I write myself
once again
into the book of life
sky a page
river a page
muddied earth
and body a page.
God is like the sun
a light too fierce to face
so choose life
I wander stripped of awe
handless, unable to shape
clay on the still spinning wheel,
having forgotten the melody
even the impulse
to sing
Beauty returns, asks
READ MORE about Teshuvah: A Haikuof waving ocean
foamy feasting on land
coaxing rock into fine
hewed sand,
laughing, sighing
He sang the prayers
and the prayers
sang him and he
taught: Shabbat is song
and the song is Shabbat,