All those spider zebras, they
Scuttle on the stones, their Four eyes gleam, their palps Quiver, they blindly stare, When there are so many of them, We forget the one, we forget, Before “one,” what do you count? (the light from the future confused with regret) Until the greatest light beyond Light itself causes you to stumble, Spits out water, bitter, you Feel the aquifer, the earth, rumble. Here comes a light, at least We call it that, it is a faith, At least we call it that, It is, or the world is a wraith, It is one, it is the invisible core Of the greatest talent, inner And upper, it sucks in the righteous, An inner gift transforms the sinner, It is a flag in our hands, It is the gift of tongues, It is the song that is son, The letters of the name upon rungs, It is a portrait of your face Before you descended, it is really You, it is your progeny, And how they spread their gifts ideally.
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Yaacov David Shulman
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