Sabbath Among the Ruins
These poems were written over many years. They emerge from the ruins in which we are living, from my despair of finding a Sabbath, from my persistent search for it, and from the unexpected discovery that the Sabbath exists even in the midst of devastation.
This is the Sabbath: a little rain in the midst of drought, vision in the very moment of understanding nothing, a flash of beauty in a broken bowl, and the miraculous, insistent vitality of the body and the heart.
I could have eliminated the earlier poems, the poems of grief and injury, the poems of the broken heart, but how then, would we recognize the Sabbath, and all it endures in order to shine? In gratitude, then, for the gift of the seventh day.
to get to the heart
and every living thing
Some of us have spent our lifetimes
searching our bodies
for the letters of flame,
when they arise
some of us burn
and some of us set fires.
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