Kenneth Hahn Park
I wrote this poem in the week before the October 7th attacks. Now after the shloshim, I am sending it to my 2 paid subscribers as a treat, retreat, respite - with hints of Shir HaShirim. Todah rabah.
The sunlight in my hair is beautiful --
his voice as tender as his fingertips, clear
and elusive, as the last rays on a plane’s rudder
above us, on its flight to somewhere in the east
for summer has passed and the rains must come.
The sun is a topaz haze, slowly sinking into canyons
a silent reckoning. Earth and grass
a womb-shaped meadow, a monument to dream…
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