I rejoiced when he said,
Let’s go to Jerusalem.
Our feet stood inside your gates, O Jerusalem,
stood on flat stone, our hands clutched our knapsack ties,
our eyes lifted up to the clothing above the pathways,
our heads turned to catch the glimmer of a tourist’s earrings,
turned back to hear a merchant.
I sat on a stoop and took photographs of people’s feet
as they descended the shallow steps
and bought a ring that turned my finger green.
I drank coffee in your shops, Jerusalem.
I made pilgrimage to your walls,
put my hand on your walls, closed my eyes, O Jerusalem,
leaned my forehead on your walls, kissed your walls with my forehead
and prayed for the well-being of Jerusalem.
No comments:
Post a Comment