4 toward the Omer

netzach shebchesed

Today, blood is not
a plague, although I
seem to be undecided
about my other exports.

I hear faint music
through the Zoom sound
from their TikTok scrolling,

familiar, now the background
to scary videos unfolding
loop by interlocking loop.

Anger—I protect myself.
Sadness—I protect love.
Love—I am annihilated.
Fear—I protect untruth.
Truth—I protect future.

I thought the skies
would be less gray
after the rain stopped,
but here we are,

still alive. And at
this final moment Dov
sends photos of the
earth, of flowers, yellow,

purple, green. The needles
pass the string back
and forth, building up
what goes between them.