My window was so clear
It made the view scintillate, And I felt the trace of awe Until it became a dragging weight. I hid in a soft sweet shadow. The soccer field, the children racing, Refracted a light that could not become solid. As they ran, it too ran, pacing Their steps. That light was my fruit. Its taste aroused sweet sorrow. I turned in the room, Where the beams of time from yesterday to tomorrow Gave me the cells of my days. The longing light within me, As I stand upon the kitchen tiles, Burns beyond boundary.
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Yaacov David Shulman
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October 2019
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