So much life
exists unbeknownst to me.
Like the Tao,
truth simply is.
By the door to oblivion I set all that is precious. Someone once walked through and lost their self. I am afraid of leaving nothing behind.
Beyond darkness, there exists something much more inhibiting;
loss of self or a second birth.
The sound of prayer
strikes me as your
first lover.
You and the Holy One
as you chase oneness
-and oneness is always near.
But she could not fully meet you
and now you lay,
your head to the Western Wall
praying for reunification.
Your beauty is
like lilies in a pond
blessing everything
-the angels become shadows
to bless me unaware
Be rid of excess
and become like a forgotten poet
If only to remember your self
An angel approached sunlight
aching to become its warmth
yet warmth and light are not the same
Is it the rain
which washed away my tears
that becomes our drinking water?
The weight of a poem
is a leaf
on my shadow
-yet it affects me.
Three hands
of self, love and fear
come gloved in gold
-not made of, but dressed as
Is this a decision or a choice?
If I met my self of yesterday
I would tell her
how quickly the day had passed
Why is it that
the soldiers go by
in their uniforms?
-and we passed many trees
to come here.
To get three new papers
saying I am I.
Like the ancient and forgotten,
it crumbles into itself
Remembrance
In the density of night,
I pray you are within me
-if where I come from is your garden.
If a poet knows her sister,
it is as if to say she knows herself
Before the night ran out
or the suns shadow ceased to grace
there were flowers here
To understand the flower,
one must begin with a vein
Beneath a truth,
many absolved tellers
I, and the night
like one tangled being
vying for its other self
Mitzvot
Everyday we write a book
in memory of
the forgotten poet