Still unsettled from my last call, when Christian babies had been dug from graves and stashed inside Jewish kitchens to prove guilt, now up against energy efficient drones all rubble down the ritual hole
Twisted Bay laurel trunks lean down the hillside branches covered in moss scarves quail make a quick exit like a troupe of dancers racing across stage lights to fame, the
How can I be sure I’m the best one for the job, a statue hewn from rose quartz, a slab for nose, a chunk for body, two lips unable to speak
I learned to think with my eyes speak with my hands in the shimmery violet and reddish black of the evening light the sound of Aramaic wending along the Eustachian
In my dreams, he stretches far or holds the hand of shadows lags behind as I try to catch up my Rebbe of Prague who installed me inside the Hall of Justice as
You swooped in to take a close-up the first time in more than sixty years by my count, no time at all. Maybe you couldn’t believe the wind whispering in your soft ear had to see with