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.
Yaacov David Shulman