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Credo in a kind of
American jewish Hamlet-like
bagel, too round for action
yet leavened enough by contact
with the near-dead past—you call it
landscape, I call it history—to provide
a layered vantage…
On the holiest day we fast till sundown.
I watch the sun stand still
as the horizon edges towards it. Four hours to go.
The rabbi’s mouth opens and closes and opens.
I think: fish
and little steaming…
Open your mouth
To feed that flesh
Your teeth have bled
Tongue us out
Bone by bone
Do not allow
Man to be fed
By bread alone
“And He afflicted thee and suffered thee to hunger and fed thee with…
Someone gathered rich apples, rich corn,
Grown of your heart and your brain,
And in me, as a loft, has stored
Some of the fruit and grain.
The loft smells sweet with its store:
The corn for making…