Sabbath Poem
Feb 21, 2021
Holy nightfall sends a second soul, heard in the berakhot, sensed in the candlelight, felt in the breath, in the longing, in the tenebrosity spilled out across the earth, emanating, it seems, from the light where all things begin and all things find ending.
Each mouthful twice fills us, each song, twice moves us, each breath twice saturated. And I, admiring the honey-toned flowers on my table,
notice a rising,
warm and simple as the ballooning of bread dough, a small, significant swelling — thanksgiving, it seems, for holy rest.
