Posted on December 5, 2012 by The Director of Digital Media
There is Torah in this trunk:
Otiot of rain, sun, wind, bullets, tears.
Clouds pass, stories unwind, sun drops.
Light shines through holes in gray bark.
Is truth as crooked as this limb,
As steep as the hillside?
In the hollow center,
Old leaves make new soil.
Is this a Torah of hope?
Photograph of me
I am surprised to see a thick torso and wrinkles on my neck.
I forget about time.
In my mind, I am this other thing, young, lithe, beautiful.
I run fast in dreams, very fast.
Time has me.
How strange, how ordinary.
When I remember, I forget my Amalek:
The dark voices that confound.
When I remember, I am grateful.
When I remember, I run fast, very fast.
I hear Abayiss
I hear your poem.
I hear emptiness, waiting.
Cigarettes frame images.
I see the red, glowing circle in the dark.
Your breath, mixes with smoke, exhales worry.
Unlikely: Scottish tunes in yeshiva.
We play watery melodies on dry land.
Golden sax, tawny fiddle, tubes and leather
Sing in the dark.