Monday, May 2, 2016

7 toward the Omer

malkhut shebchesed
(majesty in lovingkindness)

What do you call a hell that
is made of kittens? is what I

think he asks me, so I think.
He appreciates my effort, misplaced. He says

a meowntain. It's Shabbat, I don't have
the ability to save the children today,

can't write, can't give, I'm late anyway.
I appreciate his effort, misplaced. I imagine

it's hard, what he does. He says
he watches the ocean, full of waves,

without expecting each to carry a shell
to his feet. His name is Shawn.

We shake hands. I keep on walking.

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