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Зимородок
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Год написания книги
2020
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A solemn promise given long ago?
Or a bitter-sweet journey
On a freely chosen path?
Creation stories
To Orna Greenberg
In the story
Of the first creation
The Divine power
Lifts the supple clay,
To mold His image,
To imprint Her likeness.
The Divine breath
Enters the human shape,
Calls it to life.
The potter’s hands
Explore a lump of clay,
Stroke, press in
The hollow of the vessel,
Form the plump lip,
Extend the graceful neck.
The artist dips the brush
Now into paint, now into water.
An image blossoms:
Ocher and sienna blend;
The colors thicken —
Shadows outline the round rim,
The colors thin —
Light curves down the glazed flank.
You
Lift the clay jar,
Gaze at the painting,
Read these lines,
You
Have the power
To breathe into a creation
Awareness, thought, meaning,
Life.
Creation
It is possible to escape,
To hide from the darkness:
Squeeze your eyes shut,
Press hard on the eyelids.
Circles of phantom fire
Will blaze in front of your staring pupils.
Let us trade: I would barter
My past, my memory,
For a handful of stars,
For the dimmest of constellations…
But you drive a hard bargain
By simply refusing to exist.
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