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It reaches but it does not
Reach it is filled with closeness With wordlessness Bound to feeling Bound to lights higher than stars Warmer than bodies Water to water, fire to fire, Sky to sky. They seep Across lines, they burrow We find ourselves Above continents, A sovereign current Changes us to us.
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The world was created for me.
Thistles, spikes, prickles, crowns, Spongy bushes, dagger thorns Fester, nettles prosper in the palace. I am formed for charity, For burning briers, building towns, Sowing hyssop, peppercorns, Uprooting brambles, uprooting malice. Then knowledge deeper than the sea, Where evil dies, corruption drowns, Sings potent notes on silver horns, Pours holy wine from a silver chalice. A river flows it wishes to flow
Without borders How it suffers the constriction of its banks If the river Would have no banks, The fish would never fear The fisherman But the fisherman Must stand and fish And the fish must cower Until time overflows its banks. As jagged as a cracked wave,
Hard as a years-old kernel, Empty, ragged, starving, Tossing its head, ravaging, Scattering lights and plants That land like separate planets, As this clock is a nameless happenstance This marvelous hand An aimless meteor, As though this world lacked all mercy At the center of each volcano, As though each plain Had no living underbelly. Until a puling whiteness Crawls across borders Defying truth and fragility. |
 Yaacov David Shulman
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