My window was so clear
It made the view scintillate
So that the dynamics of the inner law
Began more clearly to resonate.
I hid in a soft sweet shadow.
The soccer field, the children racing,
Reflected a light that could not become solid
But as they ran, it too ran, pacing.
That light was my fruit
I remembered my sweet sorrow
I turned in a room
Where the beams of time from yesterday to tomorrow
Gave me the cells of my days.
But the light within me me burned
And my feet upon the kitchen tiles turned.
Yaacov David Shulman