The Poet

I hope my home is as near to me as me.

To breathe in is to breathe out and again.

It is from within that we may find the reverence for Hashem’s beauty.

You will always have enough.

I walk you home

and your home

is the edge of my consciousness.

If my heart had wings.

If my soul could speak.

On my way

to you

I pass me by 

again and again.

The future “I”

has less power than 

the me of now.

We made room for forgiveness

in the smallest of cities.

How does one come to grasp

their most unnerving flaws?

You come

with parts of you

missing,

a book with pages

lost,

you are

made incomplete

by the words you

cannot say.

Do the ones we love

live inside us?

I carry you with me

and you may not realize.

Do you detach 

from your self?

Enough to stretch the 

distance between your

soul and body,

the balancing act

of a fallen soldier.

Color yourself onto

the walls.

If you are afraid

to be forgotten,

you will be a phantom

before you die.

We wake to the sound of us. We never know how to stop it, or why it happens. I did not choose you, nor did you choose me. We found each other because we searched at the same time.

We play with each other like a child plays with their shadow.

How do I capture you?

In each light

you become more

awe inspiring.

I once had ideas of how

long love would last.

I once placed love

on a shelf so high,

I could never reach you.

Your beauty is

no surprise.

I understand why

your sunrises

we try to capture,

and we never can.

Your beauty is here

and your beauty stays with us,

but your beauty is indescribable

to the soul you

have not yet held.

The etchings

each day duplicate

and expand themselves

upon the shadows.

And I will

always wonder

who was their creator.