The Poet

I reach my hands

to Hashem

every night

cradling my soul

to say thank you

I am more

alive with every

blessing

Unravel yourself

to become a falling

person in the abundance

of falling people

Lust lacks the vulnerability that love requires

I am your dream

although I will

repel you and

your mirror

until I return

I fear me

and my mother’s tongue

For love which lasts

beyond the hardness

of my soldier’s

hands

Are you still

coming to my

mother’s funeral?

What is the coldness

my body feels 

in this time of unrest

For where is contentment

but here?

We are made

of all the light

around us

We are made to create

in reflections

and to build new gates

Maybe we are not

full in our individual

selves

we are a piece

Undesire

as long as I am without

and leaving,

I wondered if that was the last time I would see you

and the last time you would ever

truly see me

If I wrote

poetry to the land

it would forgive

-love letters

set by the graveyard

A garden of bodies

death in the wind

When the eyes are closed

there is less intensity

more room for serenity

less for passion

I saw my face in your face

two shadows

obsession

of one

This summer

I was a healer

For my own body

and for yours

I painted your glass eyes

with the colors of heaven

Where has my love gone?

Hidden in the ruins

of heaven

At the first call

for prophets nearing

I lost my sound

I lost my way