|Raanana, December 4, 2012|
There was a certain ring to her name,
Quite a certain ring, yes?
Like a poem calls up a sea of feeling
That laps at the boundary of meaning.
What does that mean,
That reminds me of a time when
That lone house in the field where she lived
When time flew over the waves of summer wheat
Like shrouds of cloud,
The boundary between when and where,
Also a kind of lapping.
The ring to her name,
Love does that, doesn’t it?
That and the boundary
Between her skin and mine.
|Raanana, December 5, 2012|
You go for a walk in the dead of winter
Over a frozen lake covered with snow.
You stoop down to brush away the soft wet crystals
And under the thick grey ice
You see a child whose lips are moving
And you try to hear what he’s saying
But you can’t.