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 MOREof 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,