DOT... LETTER... WORD...
When the past comes barging in,
Hopping about like a wren in the prickly bush,
Disguising itself in the arms of hirsute men,
Then the sky is red and swollen, painful to the touch,
Its secrets must be lanced, again. Drag out a chair,
Sit in the unkempt yard, become its leading citizen.
Yaacov David Shulman