My first morning word
would be thanks  modah ani
for soul and breath    lifanekha ruakhLit. Spirit. Some new versions of blessings call God "Spirit of the World" (Ruakh Ha’olam), rather than "King of the World" (Melekh Ha'olam).
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but there’s a glitch.
Sparrows have been cavorting
since 4 am, parceling the sky,
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proclaiming territories,
so my language is tangled
with their songs.
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Also, my murmurs are threaded
with half-finished dream
journey. Honey, wait, I shout
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into the murky dawn,
where it’s hard to behold
God’s face or anything else.
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I’ve been given
visions of strange cities, hallways,
doors that swing open
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to rooms void of families,
of images. This year of loss.
Every night the same dream
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is sent, a blank canvas
I have no energy to paint on.
Still, I’m here  sh’hekhezarta bi
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which merits
every bit of grace
I can breathe in
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then return
nishmati b’khemla,
raba emunatekha.