Friday, January 26, 2018


The roots
of going back
to the roots is not
ends or firsts of self
but the nubbins growing
out of the stalk of the vine
in the bathroom there
may be something
if you just keep
each pore

Sunday, October 29, 2017

10:59 p.m.

Epsom salt bath, toes steaming,
rain on the slanted skylight,
I sing: Am I not alive?

Tuesday, May 30, 2017

45-49 toward the Omer

tiferet/netzach/hod/yesod/malkhut shebmalkhut

It would be tempting to say that I was too present with the world to write poems in their times for the last five days of presence week but that would not necessarily satisfy me, in any case it is these words in a rush,

a contemplative rush, a still somewhat filtered rush, a rush with pauses, a rush with backspaces, a rush with eddies one could say, and somehow no matter what happens the current carries forward, at the end the preparation has happened and we are standing here again,

standing right here again, what shape will I receive this time, what flowers will grow out of me, what thunder shall reverberate through my chest and not shatter me, what poem can I write in twenty minutes that I am not ashamed of without having to rely

on saying that it was written in twenty minutes, what are the words that glow with where they came from, what will ignite the glow that they could come from, ignite is not the right word, what bed will allow the glow to rest and smile, to sleep

and dream out a new beginning, a new old beginning, a love, a love rooted in my circulation, what is the preparation, there is no preparation, the words run out just in time for the words to come again, the words run out, they run out just in time

Monday, May 29, 2017

44 toward the Omer

gevurah shebmalkhut

I almost stop because the pen ran out of ink but find a pen with ink in my bag and put the pen without ink back in the bag although I won’t use it again and notice what I’ve done and keep on writing.

43 toward the Omer

chesed shebmalkhut

They drive over an hour twice to be with me in my jet-lagged state or maybe to hang out with my family’s dogs and maybe jokes are helpful for friendships like this. We store up each other’s hugs for another length of time.

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

41 toward the Omer

Tel Aviv
yesod shebyesod

The eyes of the man holding the Torah in Chagall's "Solitude" look nowhere. The Torah tilts away. Observing analysts might say their relationship is headed south. God says You don't have to figure out how to be closer to me I'm here.

I stop in my southward walk along the shore. Sand and water cover, recede, cover. The longer I stay, the more I sink in. I walk again. The two men who'd approached me follow, and I find refuge with three strangers.

42 toward the Omer

malkhut shebyesod

Tel Aviv-New York-Baltimore

Due to travel there are approximately thirty-one hours of today today. They conclude that my friend’s mother’s gift of olive oil from their trees is safe enough to stay with me. The airplane meal packaging says at least one blessing to say.

Sunday, May 21, 2017

40 toward the Omer

Jenin-Ramallah-Jerusalem-Tel Aviv
hod shebyesod

Her mother says she would like to hear Havdalah and I make it. Why does it say who separates between Israel and the peoples? I talk about Yaakov, about commandments. None of us are satisfied.

Upstairs, I think: God separates but the word between comes to show us three: Between of holy and secular: chol hamoed; Light, dark: dawn; Shabbat, the six days of doing: bein hashmashot; Israel, the peoples: and I am not satisfied.

In the car as we wait for my friend and their brother to return the three of us return to the basics. Hajara, waraqa, maqas! Our hands bump, cover, snip. We laugh, satisfied, and play again, and again, and again.

I keep my open passport and visa flattened against the plastic as the young women in uniform peer and process. One eventually gives me a smile and two thumbs up. After the bus, I cross the line with my possessions.

Five years of turning the kaleidoscope. The jewel-toned pieces jumble into their final display over a Tel Aviv patio. They love each other, and it's beautiful. He rolls tobacco. I luxuriate in the hammock, and then it's time to leave.

39 toward the Omer

netzach shebyesod

The only full day together and yet it is here and it will always be here and it is raining, she sticks her arm out of the window and drinks the water off and says try it, it's delicious

Thursday, May 18, 2017

38 toward the Omer

tiferet shebyesod

She balances upside-down in her soldier's garb, based by her friend, who lies on the small carpet on the linoleum, legs vertical, feet flexed. With small pawing steps to her hip joints, he guides her to rotate around.