DOT... LETTER... WORD...
All material on this site copyright 2020 by Yaacov David Shulman
The worm eats the mind and the hands
Until the core is hollowed out,
Draw a line from your mind,
From the breath to the waterspout,
Don’t remain there either, because
The eggs are in the nest high
Above the forest floor, and if
The mother bird doesn’t fly,
The sun will set, the eggs will die,
And in a moment of self-disgust,
The trees themselves will shiver in
A wind that carries yellow dust.
Yaacov David Shulman